


How to survive your sixth grade at Hogwarts

by LesleyJean97



Series: Only the luckiest could survive all seven years at Hogwarts [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter, Basti is a hazard to cooking, FC Bayern München, Fluff and Humor, German National Team, Gryffindor|nuts, Hermann 'tiger' Gerland is Potions Master, Hufflepuff|who?, Lewy lives in the lines, M/M, Manuel being a harmless Gryffindor, Mats being a sassy Slytherin and a good buddy, Mats is that kind of friend who would impress you with tons of cleverly-stupid ideas, Mrs. Norris isn't someone to cross, Quidditch of course, Ravenclaw|bald, Slytherin|badass, Thomas thought he was supposed to be sorted into Gryffindor as well, Thomats friendship, and some angst maybe, asking a Slytherin, but clearly the Sorting Hat had different opinions, but in the end maybe some of them might work after all, cause he was too destructive to stay in Slytherin, using one word to describe the students from each house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesleyJean97/pseuds/LesleyJean97
Summary: He paused for a second to take in a deep breath, ‘I’m eager to know whether or not you would say yes if I ask you out for a date–’The rest of his remark was obscured by a loud spout cause Thomas squirted the beer all out on Manuel’s face following his sincere confessions.or, a Slytherin, who got the knack of making himself a spectacle, could always easily embarrass himself to death but somehow always found himself saved by the gentle smile of one Gryffindor.
Relationships: Mats Hummels & Thomas Müller, Mats Hummels/Benedikt Höwedes mentioned, Thomas Müller/Manuel Neuer
Series: Only the luckiest could survive all seven years at Hogwarts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107746
Comments: 33
Kudos: 13





	1. The cat was disgruntled with the butterbeer shower

**Author's Note:**

> So this time is Harry Potter universe and I've noticed that the previous stories were all narrated from Manuel's pov and I thought maybe this time I can try something different, for example writing a Neuller fic from Thomas' perspective.
> 
> I know in most cases (posts on tumblr) Thomas is sorted into Gryffindor but I believe Slytherin would also appreciate his tricky quality. Therefore in this fic he is a Slytherin (but yeah he's kinda confused and don't understand why the Sorting Hat placed him in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor cause Slytherin are a huddle of quiet whiperers while Gryffindors are a bunch of troublemakers and he's like an destructive amplifier so--)

It was Feb. 16th, two days after Valentine’s Day, a day when everyone else was still immersed in the sweetness brought by the merry smiles of their loved ones except for one – Thomas Müller, who was anything but a besotted dope. While hurrying his way along the old baronial corridor of Hogwarts, he nudged through several loving couples in a not very courteous way but failed to notice them all as he was too concentrated to spare them a look, cause all he thought about was making a proper apology to one certain Gryffindor dude.

It all happened two days before, which meant, on Valentine’s Day precisely. He was left alone that day cause his best buddy Mats was off to celebrate with his boyfriend in Hogsmeade and therefore he decided that he might as well use the time to explore the castle, especially those dark corners which no one had ever set foot in so that he could swank about his findings after Mats came back. He roved aimlessly in the empty hall, determined to venture into where appeared to be the darkest and right when he turned down to a gloomier corridor, he bumped into the aforementioned Gryffindor dude – Manuel Neuer, who literally appeared out of nowhere.

‘Hi.’ Manuel greeted him with gentleness, though his gesture a bit of stiff and looked strained with nervousness.

‘Hi.’ returned Thomas absentmindedly while giving him a quick survey before opening his mouth, ‘So… are you here for an adventure?’

‘Um, no.’ Manuel denied frankly, licking his lips while also sizing Thomas up in quick glances. Seconds later he ventured, ‘You fancy going out for a drink? I mean in the Three Broomsticks, with me.’

Thomas started pondering on this suggestion. It sounded pretty alluring – on one hand no one had the heart to turn down such a sweet suggestion as to drink in a nice warm pub with the fragrance of beer wafting around them in a chilling day and on the other hand, at this point his expedition didn’t seem to be that thrilling anymore cause shadows and dusts were not what he was seeking for. Maybe a cup of hot butterbeer and Fizzing Whizbees were what he actually needed right now, in other word, an adventure to Hogsmeade.

However here rose up another question – he and Manuel were not actually that close. They were from different houses, and they barely spoke with each other before. Things hadn’t changed until they were both appointed as prefects of their respective houses and it was only then that their friendship finally built up. Admittedly, he considered Manuel a friend, but not a close friend. It felt strange to go for a drink with someone you were not so close to on Valentine’s Day. He was about to say no after a thorough contemplation but ended up acceding to his proposal as something guttering in Manuel’s eyes made him change his mind.

_This was not very Slytherin._ Thomas told himself.

Seeing him nodding, Manuel’s bright eyes twinkled with joy. On the way to Hogsmeade Thomas kept asking himself why on earth Manuel would invite him out but in the end he deemed it too stupid to waste his time pumping out for an answer and chose not to think it over, covering the remaining journey in peaceful silence.

History proved that there gotta be consequences if one chose to be a slacker in this case.

They settled themselves down in a quiet corner by the window and ordered two cups of butterbeer. Sitting around them were all loving couples, snogging and fondling as if they were glued to each other. _Yikes,_ grumbled Thomas inwardly and hastened to lower his head to save himself from the torment of being forced to watch the dramatic scene where everyone tried to display his or her affection in public in the dullest way. In all fairness, even the spiraling beer bubbles were more intriguing than them.

He stared at the bubbles for what seemed to be minutes and finally darted his glance elsewhere due to boredom. His gaze fell on from the wallpaper with elaborate golden scrolls to the students passed by the window and at last, on the big guy sitting across him, who was now eagerly gazing at him. Thomas’ whole body tensed in a flash.

‘What?’ He forced out an awkward chuckle to veil his discomfort, while tightly clinging on to the cold mug to suppress the impulse of fidgeting with his own fingers, ‘You have something in mind? Want to confide some secrets? Did something wrong and want to drag another guy into your crime or just need a guy to listen to your confession so as to ease your guilt?’ 

Thomas blabbered whenever he felt unease. He wasn’t so fond of this but he couldn’t do anything about it either. It just came out naturally like a flow. Most people just snorted and walked away in midstream whenever it happened, Mats being the only exception though. However right now it seemed that Manuel could be added to the list as well. Having been bombarded with Thomas’ tons of gibberish for a full minute, he still somehow remained his courtesy, curving his lips into a kind smile and hoped Thomas to excuse his not being able to give him prompt answers to all those questions at the moment.

_Merlin’s beard._ Thomas felt his cheeks burning with blushes the instant those soft words were blown into his ears, _how could someone be such a considerate and gentle guy? Let alone the said guy is a Gryffindor?_

To hide his bashfulness, Thomas raised the mug for a toast with a heartfelt ‘cheers’ and took down a large gulp. The taste was great, a beautiful mix of bitterness and sweetness with a touch of acid flavors being the icing on the cake. It singly proved that this trip to Hogsmeade was all worthwhile, and supposed to be a peaceful one, had Manuel not unwisely decided to bare his heart right when Thomas just swallowed a mouthful of beer.

‘I fancy you.’ He blurted out, not directly looking at Thomas but keeping his gaze down instead with a deeply lined forehead, ‘I know you must be unprepared for this and trust me neither do I. Nonetheless I feel it necessary to confide to you cause that’s the reason why I ask you out on this day. It’s not easy to say it out loud but it’s even harder to keep it all to myself while suffered from the confusing uncertainties so I decide to tell you about this. I hope it didn’t give you a start and–’ He paused for a second to take in a deep breath, ‘I’m eager to know whether or not you would say yes if I ask you out for a date–’

The rest of his remark was obscured by a loud spout cause Thomas squirted the beer all out on Manuel’s face following his sincere confessions. They sat there frozen and speechless like stone statues for what seemed to be centuries, with Thomas totally rooted to the spot while Manuel completely drenched by beer and not until half of a minute later was Thomas finally brought back to life followed by a succession of incoherent mumbles.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean it!’ Thomas exclaimed in panic, ‘I might overreact, I don’t know why but…’ He stuttered, waving his lanky arms frantically while Manuel was eerily quiet in drastic contrast, which rendered Thomas even more anxious because based on his personal experience, this promised that a fierce thunderstorm was on its way. _Merlin’s beard, he must be so pissed off._

To make up for the mess and at the same time to break the ice as well, Thomas pulled out his wand from beneath his robe in a flurry and pointed it at Manuel, his hand shuddering fiercely as he racked his brain searching for the cleaning spell – _What is that? Scourtify? Scourgify? Scournify? Sounds like it_ – Though not quite certain about it, nonetheless he mumbled it out in a trembling yet muffled voice in a haste for it seemed that there was no time to lose since a storm was bearing down.

He knew he messed up when he heard a loud explosive sound following his whispers, because a cleaning spell simply wouldn’t cause a blast. After the plumes of smoke slowly dispersed, he saw what was sitting right across him was no longer Manuel, but a giant orange tabby cat instead. _Holy fuck,_ Thomas felt his heart missed a beat. He just transformed Manuel Neuer, the prefect and the seeker of Gryffindor, into a plump orange cat.

Manuel – the cat, to be more precise – was otherwise sitting on the stool with his chest puffed out in a proud manner which was so not Manuel-Neuer-ish, blinking while casting a somewhat deprecating and reproachful look at Thomas. His whiskers twitched like a real cat and he licked the furs beneath his nose like a real cat, and to top it all off, he was meowing like a real cat. If Thomas didn’t get it wrong, it must have been some curse in cat’s language.

_Merlin’s beard. I literally turned him into a cat._

Thomas sat motionless for what felt like eternity with his hand still freezing in midair. It must have been a while before he finally came to himself cause Madam Rosmerta was here asking if they needed any help.

‘Everything’s fine, I guess.’ Thomas muttered with a thin smile. Madam Rosmerta returned him with some suspicion and Thomas knew that was pretty much what everyone else in this room felt about him without even looking. He excused himself, brushing past Madam Rosmerta for Manuel. The giant cat jumped in his arms in a fluid, elegant motion. He cradled the furry beast against his chest and fled out of the bar in a dash under people’s suspicious gazes into the flurries of snow, not turning back even at Madam Rosmerta’s urgent yells. 

Manuel kept squirming in Thomas’ arms on their way back to the castle. He meowed unhappily, puffing out heavy breath continuously which blew off his whiskers and twitching his long furry tail lashing Thomas’ arms with it every now and then to tell him that clearly he was in a bad humor.

_I’m dead. He must be so pissed at me._

Frightfully panicked as he was, Thomas had the decency not to just dump him in some dusty alley. He carried the cat as firmly as he could, patting him gently and giving him soothing rubs against his nape which remarkably, worked like a charm. Manuel no longer hit him with his paws, nor did he give him a tail-whiplash anymore, instead, he snuggled up to Thomas and rubbed his neck with his soft furs in a rather intimate way, and tickled him with his long whiskers while purring with pleasure. _Somebody – Merlin, Salazar, anybody – please help me. I’m dying here._

He sprinted straight for the hospital wing without a second of delay, trying to keep a low profile while slithering in the long corridors after he was back in the castle. Manuel was now surprisingly as good as gold, sitting in his arms like a well-behaved child without looking for trouble. _Thank Merlin._ Thomas let out a sigh of relief inwardly and sped up when he saw the sign of the hospital wing.

Dr. Müller-Wohlfahrt was in charge of the medical stuff and although he had seen a lot throughout his years at Hogwarts, he breathed a mild exclamation in awe when he saw the giant orange cat in Thomas’ arms. Thomas had no option but to admit that it was due to an accident under Dr. Wohlfahrt’s persistent questions and sharp eagle eyes, which ensued a heavy sigh from the old man. He took out his wand and with a simple flick, Manuel was back to his human form. At first he was a bit of disoriented and perplexed as to why and how he got there. He glanced around and when his eyes finally fell on Thomas, he uplifted his eyebrow a fraction in an attitude of contemplation. It didn’t take him long to work out everything.

A faint smile crossed Manuel’s face unnoticed, as Thomas dropped his gaze to avoid Manuel’s intent stare cause he was too afraid to be confronted with a face like thunder. And before Manuel could utter a word, Thomas struck first with grunts, ‘I’m glad to see you back–’ He stammered, keeping his head even lower that his voice was as muffled as strangled whispers. He racked his brain for something to say but it ended up with nothing, so he stormed out of the room like a gust of wind with only a ‘see ya’ left behind.

That was in no way very courteous. And the upshot was that this morning, on Feb. 16th, Thomas was treading quietly in quick trots in the halls swarmed with couples, looking for Manuel, while wavering over what to say exactly after he cornered him up.

Thomas zigzagged through the labyrinth of corridors – everywhere he set foot in was full of people. He had to crane his neck for a better view, had he hoped not to get lost in the vast halls. After several turns he finally came to somewhere not that crowded and stifling. Drawing in fresh air and deep in meditation as he was, he accidentally bumped into someone while walking with his head down. He jumped one step back with a jerk, letting out a yelp and rubbing his painful nose, not aware who it was that standing right across him until that familiar voice sounded above him.

‘I’m looking for you.’ said Manuel. That gentleness in his voice was his brand that Thomas could easily recognize it even by only one syllable or a simple breath. ‘Sorry for the bump – I, um, was too immersed in my own thoughts to notice you.’ He smiled apologetically.

‘It’s alright.’ Thomas mumbled, still massaging his nose in a way that was not so elegant, ‘What are you doing here? – I mean, why are you even looking for me?’

Manuel licked his lips thoughtfully for a while and after a beat of silence, it seemed that he finally mustered up enough strength for what he was about to say as he exhaled a long breath and slowly yet steadfastly, he opened his mouth, ‘About what happened in the Three Broomsticks, I say we better just pass it over like it never happened. What do you think of it?’

‘Oh, that.’ Thomas murmured, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you were once transformed into an orange tabby cat.’

‘Um, I’m saying the other thing.’

‘The other thing–––?’ Thomas parroted in bewilderment. All of a sudden it dawned on him what Manuel was referring to when his green eyes met the blue ones, from where he could read seriousness which was so rare to see.

‘If it would make you bothered, then we better drop this and pretend that nothing has ever happened.’ Manuel explained, ‘That day I made a mistake. With hindsight, it might be too rash for you to actually digest in a way I wanted you to. That’s my fault. And I figure we better just leave it cause hey–’ He forced a thin smile, ‘–I can’t _Obliviate_ you, right?’ said him jokingly.

Thomas let out a fit of weak laughter in tune with Manuel’s joke which he deemed it not so entertaining at all, but rather sad. Eventually the laughter was subsided to a cough and when he was finally collected, Thomas inhaled a deep breath and played light-hearted as he went on with his usual blabbering, ‘I have an inkling that things would repeat itself even if you _Obliviate_ me. Or I _Obliviate_ you? – not much difference here. Anyway, if you think it’s the best way for us both, I don’t see the necessity of me being opposed to it.’

‘Cool. Then I guess we are done here.’

‘Yeah,’ Thomas echoed, nodding eagerly like a chick nibbling at its feed, ‘it’s great, to sort things out…’

‘So that’s it.’ said Manuel briskly with a handclap, ‘Time for me to disappear – figuratively.’ He added. ‘Can’t hold you too long when you are needed elsewhere. The first-years are looking for you. Not sure for what business but I caught some snatches on my way here. Maybe it’s about the new password.’

‘Oh, um, then I better set off right now.’ Thomas muttered, lowering his head spontaneously under Manuel’s soft smile. _I must look so obtuse and dumb right now or why would he give me that smile?_

Manuel took his hand following a hearty chuckle, as a result of which, Thomas blushed instantly as he thought Manuel was going to pull him in his embrace for a kiss. But instead Manuel only gave him a gentle squeeze and with a subconscious attempt to hold it longer than actually needed before he finally loosened his grasp and let go of it. With a kind smile he bade farewell, turned around and left with silvery clicks against the marble floor, as suddenly as he was when he bumped into Thomas’ sight. 

Standing rigidly while seeing the silhouette slowly receding away into crowds, Thomas had no idea how he was supposed to make of all this. Maybe deep down he did feel a bit of disappointed, as a taste of bitterness lingered on between his two lips – though he wasn’t quite certain if it was saved for himself, or just out of empathy. But one thing was for sure – the gentleness and understanding melted in those blue eyes made him feel stung like hell as if his heart were nibbled away by a swarm of ants when he watched Manuel slowly engulfed by waves of crowds and fading away into nothing.

That night Thomas did nothing but locked himself up in the dormitory and buried his face in the pillow while lying flat on stomach, looking downright beaten. Mats, his roommate and a renowned Slytherin badass, decided to just let him lie in there to get himself collected after he heard everything from Thomas. Although for now it seemed that his plan didn’t go as he presumed, which meant, he had to go back to the drawing board to work out another plan, hence he ventured, ‘Looks like you literally fall flat on your face.’

‘I don’t want to hear a pun.’ grumbled Thomas in a muffled voice.

‘No pun? Okay, then tell me what it is that got you look like this.’

‘I already told you everything.’

‘But I don’t see the point of playing ostrich here. You just rejected an ardent admirer and it’s really nothing. It happens all the time. He should learn to get used to people slamming the door on his face. This is a precious experience for him.’ 

‘Nonetheless I felt it a bit of cruel cause he’s just–’ Thomas heaved a sigh, ‘–he’s too nice. I don’t think anyone who has basic decency has the heart to turn him down.’ 

‘Bold of you to assume that I’m not a decent man.’ retorted Mats crossly, ‘And remember, he told you to pass it over. So whatever consequence is, it’s him who should be to blame.’

Thomas let out a deep heavy sigh which sounded much like a muffled sob in response to Mats’ remark. ‘Thanks for trying to make me feel better.’ He mumbled at last, turning around to face the curtains of the four-poster to exhale a breath which he had held for the past hours from the bottom of his chest. While gazing at the folds of the heavy velvet curtains in gloomy contemplation, a spark of thought suddenly crossed his mind and the next second, before he had realized, the words already slipped out of his lips in an involuntary yet fluid motion, ‘Why would he want to date me?’ he murmured, meanwhile Mats pricked his ears, ‘Don’t you find it a little bit of weird?’

Mats shook his big head in a rather funny way with a subtle trace of amusement written on his face, ‘I thought it’s pretty obvious that he craves for you. Everyone can see that. I thought you should know, or at least could sense a thing or two.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Thomas quirked an eyebrow.

‘I’m saying that you probably are the most ignorant and unintelligent dope I’ve ever known.’

‘Of all people am I really that ignorant to be oblivious to things that everyone knows going along in the castle?’

Mats simply answered with a ‘yep’. Thomas breathed another sigh – he let out too many sighs today that he felt his chest ache, ‘So how should you know?’ he croaked, ‘Did he once confide a word to you or what… you just dig it out yourself?’

‘I’m smart enough to piece together the clues myself.’ Mats snorted, ‘Don’t you see he’s the only one who would give responses to all your lame jokes?’

Thomas was struck numb. He blinked his eyes with a vacant look as the fragments of the memories started to pour in – though he hadn’t actually paid much attention before but the radiant smile and the tinkle of laughter did leave an impression. The prefects had their own compartments on the Hogwarts Express – four people in total were jammed into the stifling compartment and no matter how the other two guys changed from one to another, Manuel was always the one who sat across him. Whenever he brought up a joke, Manuel would return with a sincere smile. It happened every time that Thomas took it for granted.

‘And that time he volunteered to help you with the cleaning when we were given a week-long detention, remember that?’ Mats continued. That was about two years ago – he and Mats had some really crazy ideas and decided to bring their own innovative whims into the study of potions which ended up blowing up half of the ceiling of the restroom. They were thus kept in detention for a whole week to clean up the mess and Manuel, of his own accord, came to assist.

‘Remember the time when he came to comfort you after we lost to Gryffindor? He even hugged you – oh, man, I was right beside you then.’ Mats babbled, showing no sign of bringing it to a halt, ‘And there was a time when–’

‘Okay, cut it there.’ Thomas stopped him, crawling back to bury his face in the pillow and once again looking frustrated and a deflated balloon, ‘now I really feel like a bastard. And the worst one ever.’ He mumbled.

There was an implicit touch of amazement flashed through Mats’ eyes on seeing his friend once again playing ostrich, ‘Wait a sec,’ said Mats slowly, covering his mouth to stifle an exclamation over the fuss, ‘Are you feeling guilty?’ 

Thomas hummed in answer to his question. ‘You are a Slytherin!’ He exclaimed, half joking, ‘We Slytherins never feel guilty. It’s an insult to link us with this word.’

However Thomas wasn’t amused at all, ‘But everyone here believes I’m a spy from Gryffindor.’

‘Oh, that.’ Mats forced a hollow laugh. Rumours were that Hogwarts had a vicious plan of eliminating every single Slytherin off the earth and it started with appointing Thomas as the prefect, or what else could explain the headmistress’ nomination when the nominated guy happened to blast a huge hole on the ceiling of the restroom about a year back? As time went on even Thomas himself bought it – maybe the Sorting Hat made a mistake back then.

‘Well, a Gryffindor spy became the prefect of Slytherin – that’s pretty cool if you think about it.’ Mats’ voice intruded on his thoughts, ‘Anyway, don’t fuss over it. They are all sailing with the winds – as long as we knock the Gryffindors off their perch in the Quidditch game next week, they will no longer say a word about it. They gotta go crazy and might even chant your name.’

‘Yeah, but the premise is that we succeed in defeating them, which you know hadn’t happened in the past two years…’ Thomas sighed, grimly clouded by a gloomy shadow. 


	2. When there was a winner in a Quidditch game, there gotta have a loser as well

Things hardly changed ever since their encounter on Feb. 16th – they didn’t see each other that much, nor did they speak with each other much. There were several times when Thomas ran into Manuel, while they trotted along the corridor hurrying their way to the classroom, and they simply exchanged a greeting and nothing beyond that. To him Manuel was only an acquaintance thus far and Manuel, being the most sensitive and understanding guy, had made it quite clear that he would in no way cross the line.

‘I have a feeling that he’s avoiding me.’ mumbled Thomas one chilling night while vacantly gazing at the mermaids drifting across out of the window. From where he was sitting, he could see a photo featuring the huge Quidditch pitch in the back, on which stood six poles, each with one hoop on its end, guarding the field like a legion of sentinels, with seven players in emerald robes flying in and out of sight in the front. In no more than a week there would see a grand Quidditch game and that meant a clash right between him and Manuel as they both played the seeker. He hardly felt the frenzy or excitement in the face of such a sensational duel when everyone else waited in a fever of expectation. Here in this room all was sighing and grunting, endless and kinda annoying.

At this point Mats was not at all surprised and learned not to make a fuss over all this, so he simply responded with a hum to let Thomas know that he was listening.

‘It doesn’t feel right.’ A moment later Thomas continued, rubbing his face furiously in frustration with his eyelids both drooping in a funny way, ‘We agreed to pass it over but now I can’t, and I know he feels the same from what I can tell. It’s like we are both jinxed.’

‘That’s what happens when a Gryffindor courts a Slytherin, or when he tries to.’ said Mats nonchalantly while scribbling on a stack of parchment without even looking at him, ‘You only know Slytherin built the chamber of secrets after the wrangle between him and Gryffindor, but you should also be aware that he had made it a rule that no Gryffindor could ever date a Slytherin after that and vice versa, or bad things would happen–’

‘Mats, could you stop being a jerk for at least one minute?’ Thomas drawled, shooting him a stern sideways stare.

‘Alright, alright,’ Mats rolled his eyes, raising his hands to announce his intention of surrender, ‘Or you can just go find him and get things straight.’

‘Then I’ve got a hell bundle of things that in need of getting straight.’ Thomas bemoaned, banging his head against the table and again playing ostrich – a trick which he had perfected these days but obviously was of no use at all.

Mats, being a considerate buddy as he sometimes was, whipped out a scroll of parchment from the stack and tossed it to Thomas. ‘Draft your speech, write it down and keep it to hand in case you run into him anytime.’

Thomas mulled it over for a minute, ‘Good idea.’ He quickly concluded.

Thus Thomas set it in motion without a second of delay, scrawling hastily on the parchment in a strenuous manner till midnight – at that time Mats was already deep in a peaceful slumber. He gave it one last look after finishing everything before putting down the quill and crawling back under the warm covers, with a merry grin which was rarely seen in the past days.

The frenzy ignited as the day drew near, when the grand Quidditch clash between Gryffindor and Slytherin was due this weekend. The Students once again put on the scarf representing their houses and it was way too obvious that the communication between the students from these two houses shrunk rapidly, which, being a good appetizer, became part of this game following the traditions. Thomas knew too well not to violate this tradition cause he’d be damned, should he be caught chatting with a Gryffindor with burning crimson on his cheeks – especially this guy was the seeker and the prefect of Gryffindor. And things would be even worse if they, sadly, lost to them and in all fairness, they stood a slim chance of beating them.

Therefore Thomas banished the thought of cornering him somewhere in the castle cause in these days it equalled being naked in broad daylight. He needed somewhere secret, a hidden place that was not easy to find by others and it didn’t take him long to find one.

The day finally came when they walked down to the pitch for a fair fight against Gryffindor in a Quidditch game. In the dressing room was a mixture of excitement and nervousness when everyone was fidgeting around and pacing to and fro in the tiny dressing room with stifling heat whereas Mats, being the captain of Slytherin Quidditch team, somehow managed to hold his poise while addressing to the whole team in a gruff voice – he could be quite emotional and demanding whenever it involved Quidditch.

‘We’ve lost to them twice! Damn it twice! Do we want to see another defeat for the fucking third time in succession?’ Mats roared with so much passion that his neck veins bulged under his dark skin. The Slytherin players responded with just as much passion and returned him a ‘no’ in chorus. ‘Then go kicking their ass and beating the shit out of them like a proud gladiator battled against a lion! Come on guys! Give them a strike!’

Mats ended his emotional speech with a hoarse yet vehement yell. He stood in the doorway, giving each of his players a headbutt as they lined up to leave one after the other. Thomas brought up the rear and at that time composure already descended on Mats when it was finally his turn for a headbutt. The Slytherin captain hesitated for a second, squinting a quick glimpse at the playfield and it told him that the Gryffindor players were all in their position, and so were all the spectators. While the Gryffindors were chanting the names of their players with exhilaration, the Slytherins were sitting quietly, not sure if they were acting calm or they were simply nonchalant about the results of this game. So instead of a headbutt Mats simply asked, ‘Are you prepared for this?’

‘I’m all geared up.’ answered Thomas briefly, while subconsciously digging his hand inside the pocket. It settled him down a bit when he felt the rough skin of the scroll of parchment.

‘Alright then,’ Mats gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder, ‘make me proud.’

‘Aye, aye captain.’

When they went down on the pitch there was a sudden outburst of boos and hisses. The Gryffindors whistled at them and chanted against them in a challenging air – the chants were not exactly nice and peppered with words that were very rude. Mats was within a whisker of fighting back but he wisely gave up on the idea at last second for the Slytherins could not bear the loss of having their captain, who was also the keeper of the team, banned before this game even started.

While Thomas acted cool and collected, deep down he was definitely not what he appeared to be outwardly. Besieged by a ring of deafening squeaks and yells, with his old Nimbus Two Thousand tightly grabbed in hand, he could see his knuckles turned pale as a paroxysm of anxiety seized him from inside. It was the last stand for them with no exaggeration, should they ache for some dignity in the remaining years at Hogwarts while counting down to the last day at school. 

He exhaled a deep breath while feeling the breeze brushing against his cold skin and jerked his head in Mat’s direction when the same breeze sent his words to him in the next second – ‘I know you are better than that Gryffindor dope.’ He waved his strong fist while screaming with such enthusiasm, ‘Go knocking the daylights out of him!’

Mats could be really biased if it involved a friend. But maybe that was what Thomas needed right now – emotions, and a fraction of confidence. Mats made it in no uncertain terms that he would trust him with his life and it lit a spark inside him. Thomas glanced around – the sky was just as crystal clear as it had been but there was a subtle change in the currents, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Following a shrill whistle all fourteen players mounted their brooms and soared up like a flash. The Gryffindor chaser took the Quaffle immediately and gambled on scoring with the first strike, but Mats secured the ball with his strong hands, ensuing an outburst of moans from the Gryffindor stand. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief while gliding over the pitch, from where he was he could see twelve players dashing back and forth down there, truly a spectacle of flurry.

Thomas patrolled around the field in circles – as a seeker that was what he mostly did in a Quidditch game, kinda boring for those who craved for brilliant goals and saves but this was his job. And he had to do it right if they ever wanted to win this game.

Manuel brushed past him like a gust of wind, his golden-brownish hair ruffled by the currents and whipping in the wind looking so soft like silk. Thomas wasn’t sure whether or not it was merely a delusion but he seemed to catch a trace of smile on his face when he glided head-on towards him. Tempted and curious, he turned his head for a better look, but only glimpsed a vague flashing silhouette, half obscured by thick clouds.

He hardly dodged an oncoming Bludger in the ensuing seconds – it almost hit him and was only a whisker away above his head. Mats was unhappy about him being distracted by something else in the middle of such a fierce and important game like this one, ‘Keep focused, slim!’ he shouted at him from the other end of the pitch, and quickly turned his focus back – he performed a neat save, the Slytherins finally cheered up a little bit and sending a wave of vehement howls and chants to their team.

The Snitch was still nowhere to be seen. Thomas hovered over the field like an eagle waited for its prey, and so did Manuel. Up there they soared freely in the clouds, free from the intensive battle between other twelve players down below and here they were like two kids chasing each other just for fun.

‘We’ll win this year.’ Thomas yelled back at Manuel, who was on his heels right now. He averred with so much convincing that even he himself was close to believing it.

‘Maybe you will.’ chuckled Manuel. Now Thomas could see it clearly that he indeed wore a smile on his face, not a sneer, but a heartfelt smile in sympathy with his words.

‘Don’t you think it’s absurd?’

‘Not a bit at all.’

‘Oh well, thanks for the support.’ Thomas laughed with a touch of gratitude, ‘Though it might be better if we are not in the current circumstances. Feels like you are trying to lull me into a false sense of fulfilment so that you could spurt past me for the Snitch when I’m off guard.’

He heard a paroxysm of laughter from behind. And inwardly a blissful melody echoed inside him, as his face was aglow with joy.

Down there things didn’t look good for the Slytherins. Mats conceded a goal and the Gryffindors scored another two back to back. The Slytherin captain was outraged and flew into passion with a bellow of rage, disgruntled with his own fault. Not having much time to wallow himself in frustration, he motioned his teammates to press forward and quickly passed the Quaffle to the chaser for another round of attack. The Gryffindor chaser wrestled the ball out of the Slytherin player’s grasp and took his shot without a second of hesitation, but luckily this time Mats had the ball firmly in his hands.

 _Seems that the Snitch is our last chance._ Thomas’ face hardened and he tightly clutched the stick of his Nimbus Two Thousand with the strength more than actually needed. As he glided his eyes roved rapidly around the pitch for even the tiniest trace of that golden fluttering ball. Yet there was nothing. The clouds were too thick for one to spot anything that small.

Manuel still followed him behind, keeping a discreet distance away from him. ‘Can I ask you something?’ He ventured, and continued after Thomas gave him an affirmative nod, ‘Why do you think it’s an absurd idea that you may win this game?’

Thomas pouted, ‘Cause we play like shit whenever we play against you.’

‘‘We’ meaning ‘yourself’, right?’

Thomas didn’t respond this time. So Manuel went on, ‘The truth is, you probably are the toughest rival I’ve ever met.’

‘I appreciate your kindness.’

‘No, no. I’m not trying to comfort you. It’s a truth, really. I know for a fact that you are the most talented seeker of us all and you have the ability to stun us all.’

‘What are talents for if we can’t even win a game?’

Barely had Manuel opened his mouth to retort before Mats interrupted, ‘Don’t talk to him, Thomas!’ He bellowed, ‘Knock him off the broom!’

Thomas slid a glance over his shoulder – Manuel was still some distance apart and over the robust shoulder of the Gryffindor seeker, out of the corner of his eyes Thomas caught a glimpse of an obscure fluttering shadow behind the flocculent clouds – It came and went through between the layers like a ghost.

He slowly altered the course while still talking to Manuel in a light-hearted way for a good reason to turn his head back for a better view of that fluttering shadow, ‘He told me to knock you off.’

‘I heard that. Typical Mats Hummels, isn’t it?’ Manuel let out a chuckle, ‘Will you do as he says?’

Thomas shook his head, ‘Given the difference between our sizes, I say it’s most likely improbable.’ He said absentmindedly, meanwhile he felt his eyes tingled by a golden beam darting through the clouds as the sunlight reflected off its golden skin – Manuel hadn’t noticed it yet, and so did the others.

‘You are right.’ Manuel agreed.

‘But I already see a better idea.’ Thomas murmured, and for a split second, before everyone had ample time to react, he swerved, taking a sharp turn as the tail of his Nimbus Two Thousand described an elegant smooth arc in mid-air and speeding off in the direction of that tricky Snitch. He kept his upper body down to the broom as much as he could to reduce the effects of wind resistance. Even so, the gales drummed in his ears, so loud that even obscuring the deafening cheers from the Slytherin stand, and swept across his skin like a sharp knife as he kept putting on a pressing spurt with Manuel in hot pursuit.

The Golden Snitch became closer and closer. Thomas reached out his right hand, all his five fingers protruding for a firm grasp like that of when an eagle held out its claws to catch its prey – the Snitch was so close, only one remove away–

And the tricky little ball suddenly dived, slipping through his fingers and prepared to dart forwards in the opposite direction beneath him. _Shit._ Thomas cursed inwardly. He knew Manuel was behind him – it would be a breeze for him to catch the Snitch without even moving a muscle, should it pass him successfully.

It was their last chance. 150 points, winning the game. It was now or never.

He made a bold move without a second thought, inverting his whole body and hanging upside down on the broom with his legs crossed and his left hand gripped on the stick, which appeared that he was performing some somersault. The whole pitch burst into a fit of panic and gasped in chorus, and Manuel too, let out an exclamation in fright. Blood raced to his head and sent a pure rush of excitement inside him which not even the fulfilment of being looked up to could rival – this was Quidditch, after all.

In a fever of eager anticipation Thomas held out his right hand and after a quick sweep of his arm – like that of when one tried to scoop up the reflection of the moon mirroring in the waters – he turned over and sat back on the broom. He raised his hand high above the head, facing the Slytherin stand in a proud air and with a triumphant smile, he slowly loosened the tight grip. Sitting on his sweaty palm was the Golden Snitch, its tiny wings drooping on each side.

It inflamed the exhilaration among the Slytherins. Thomas’ eyes swept across the students on the Slytherin stand who were now bouncing up and down like waves. They were hugging each other with tears of joy, cheering for the victory for the first time ever over the past three years.

Thomas panted heavily, the Snitch still in his hand – it went still at the moment and looked pretty much like an elaborately-wrapped chocolate under the beams of sunlight. He could hear Mats howling with excitement from the other end. The Slytherins chanted his name, their voice resonating in the whole pitch like thunders and it was surely a cheerful spectacle. In this atmosphere a taste of success would easily go to one’s head.

But Thomas didn't let it take control of his mind. The excitement which had taken over his head now gave way to a sense of detachment as he looked down on the people celebrating. The emerald and silver waves swaying with joy down there was a beautiful scene – hearing the fellow students chanting his name, idolized by them – those were what he had been aching for, but now he realized that he didn’t actually need those. There was something else worth seeking for–

Manuel edged upwards so that now they were on the same level. He didn’t wait on the Snitch’s escaping course as Thomas presumed, which was rather peculiar.

‘Congratulations.’ Manuel cracked a cordial smile, ‘That was a bold move. But brilliant. Very brilliant indeed. Nicely done, Thomas.’

‘Thanks.’ said Thomas in undertones, a faint crimson creeping on to his cheeks, ‘Um, guess it’s time for a landing?’

‘If you say so.’ Manuel laughed.

They landed on the ground simultaneously a few seconds later. Thomas was surrounded by a cluster of excited Slytherins the moment he set foot on the soft grass, besieged and almost deafened by their shrill squeals. Submerged in the crowds, he had to stand on tiptoe and meanwhile craned his neck for a full view of Manuel, who only left a silhouette for him while slowly walking back to the Gryffindor dressing room.

More people joined in the celebration. Mats shrilled gleefully by his ear and awarded him a headbutt. ‘I know you are better than that Gryffindor dope!’ He yelled happily, ruffling Thomas’ curly hair with affection, ‘Come! We are heading back! Guys said that they planned to host a party for you in the common room.’

He flung his arm over Thomas’ shoulder, and ready to haul him back to the castle, but Thomas wriggled free from his arms. ‘You can go first.’ He muttered under his breath rapidly while sliding a glance at the Gryffindor dressing room, ‘I have some private issues to deal with.’

Mats cocked his eyebrow, ‘What issue?’ He persisted, but he soon unravelled the mystery as his eyes followed Thomas’ gaze and at last fell on the door painted in red with golden scroll decorations, ‘Oh, I get it. That issue, to get things straight.’ He grimaced, ‘Alright. But you better hurry, or you will miss your own party and trust me you don’t wish to do that.’

Having greeted another group of Slytherin students, he was already weary but in the meantime relieved that he finally wiggled out of the hysterical clusters. He took in fresh air and straightened his robe before setting off to the Gryffindor dressing room. When he reached there, he found that the door was half closed. He peeped through the chink and under the dim light he could make out the contours of a tall, heavily-built guy – the Gryffindor seeker was left alone to sort out all the Quidditch stuff – _what a blessing._

With a creak he pushed the door open. Manuel was astounded, jerking his head up and putting the work at hand to a halt on hearing someone stirring up in the back. He turned around with a look of bewilderment, but soon broke into a chuckle when he realized who the intruder was.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi there.’ returned Thomas. He felt his heart pounding heavily when he found himself greeted with a warm smile from Manuel.

‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’ said Manuel in jest, beaming, with a wide grin on his face.

‘Well–’ Thomas bit his lips out of nervousness, ‘The thing is, about what happened in the Three Broomsticks, there’s something else that I forgot to mention that day when you came to me–’

‘Okay…’ Manuel murmured, coming striding along to Thomas as an implicit trace of eagerness flickered across his face, ‘And what is that?’

Thomas dropped his gaze under Manuel’s intent stare and seemed to be ashamed of what he was about to utter. ‘I squirted the beer all over your face,’ He mumbled in a thin voice, fidgeting with his robe, ‘and I turned you into an orange cat. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean it. I was trying a cleaning spell but somehow it went wrong and transfigured you into a cat–’

A vacant look registered on Manuel’s face. ‘Oh, so you are coming here to apologize.’ He answered a moment later, and Thomas wasn’t sure if it was merely an illusion but he somehow caught a hint of disappointment in his voice. Even so, he managed a soft smile, ‘Of course you didn’t mean it. If there’s anything else I know for sure, I mean except for the fact that you are a great seeker–’ said him in jest, ‘–that’s it. You don’t need to worry that I might thus hold a grudge against you for this. It never happened, and it never will.’

In an attempt to set his mind at rest, Manuel gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. He then turned around and edged towards the bundle of Quidditch stuff laid there, and right when he was about to went back to the half-finished work, Thomas stopped him with a shrill yell, ‘Wait! I haven’t finished yet.’ He trotted forwards to gain on him, and stopped short just in time to avoid a solid bump against his robust pecs when Manuel swung around to face him at his request, ‘Um, I know we agreed that we should let things slide and maybe just forget it, whatever. But now things get a little twisted, if you know what I mean…’ He stammered.

Manuel uplifted an eyebrow in answer to his remark which was a clear signal that he had absolutely no idea what Thomas meant. But it was totally fine. He had prepared for this – _now it’s time for the secret weapon._

Thomas dug his hand in his pocket for the scroll, but strangely he couldn’t feel anything there. Deep hidden in the pocket was nothing but air – stifling air mixed with sweat. Trying not to make himself a fool which he already were, he forced a laugh to hide his awkwardness as Manuel gazed down at him with a puzzled look. In a flurry he lowered his head to look into his pocket and under a few gleams he saw it clearly that there was nothing there.

All of a sudden a flush of panic swept over him – he had lost the scroll. His draft, which he planned to turn to in case he had difficulty improvising the speech under Manuel’s intent stares, was lost. And the likelihood was that it slipped out of his pocket when he was hanging there upside down. 

_Oh fuck._ Thomas exclaimed to himself. Slowly and mortified, he raised his head and as their gazes met each other, he seriously considered whether he should just dig himself a grave right here or run to somewhere else to die. Personally he preferred the latter, cause he didn’t want to leave Manuel a haunting nightmare.

‘If you are thinking what I assume you are thinking, you can rest assured that I’ll try my best to prevent it from happening.’ Manuel struck first.

Thomas gave him a mechanical nod. Although they didn’t seem to be on the same channel, Manuel’s words did soothe him a bit and now he wasn’t so afraid of an improvisation.

‘Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.’ He echoed, though not exactly aware of what he was echoing with, ‘It’s just… maybe I’m too sensitive about this but I feel like you are avoiding me. I rejected your confession, one could say, but it’s not like I detest you either. I wish things could still work between us like they had been before.’

Thomas droned on for quite a while and his throat was as dry as a desert when he finally stopped to draw a breath. And his cheeks burnt with crimson as he suddenly realized what he had said.

Manuel chuckled, ‘As you wish.’ He joked light-heartedly as a grin blossomed on his face, which, as far as Thomas concerned, made his efforts all worthwhile. They stood still in silence pregnant with meaningful stares as if they were in some staring game – whoever moved first would lose it. Thomas didn’t know if he should raise a white flag and just call it quits cause as time dragged by the air became more sultry and Thomas had a vibe that one more second here and he would undoubtedly make a spectacle of himself.

They were stunned by a sudden display of fireworks out in the sky which clearly was the work of the Slytherins, as those sparkling serpents could in no way come from other hands. The howling serpents stirred them into movements, ‘Seems that the party is on.’ said Manuel briskly, ‘You should get back.’

‘Yeah, you are right. I really should go now.’ Thomas mumbled incoherently as he felt the air in the room became burning hot. He trotted to the doorway but screeched to a halt when a thought suddenly bubbled to the surface, the one which preyed on his mind since Madam Hooch had blown the final whistle.

‘It’s not a match-mixing, is it?’

Manuel was totally bewildered, ‘What makes you think so?’

‘The Snitch was hurtling to you and you could just wait there and catch it without even moving a muscle. But you didn’t.’ Thomas pointed out, ‘You dived down. Why would you?’

At his question Manuel simply breathed a faint laughter, ‘Just scared that you might fall off. It’s no big deal, really, don’t take it in mind. I was simply acting on my instinct.’ He added, shrugging with a brisk air when he caught a glimpse of the expression on Thomas’ face. ‘Hey, remember what I said up there, that you have the ability to stun us all? Look what you have achieved – you literally stunned us all.’

‘You’ll make Trelawney lose her job.’ said Thomas at last when he was once again cool and collected and retrieved his power of speech, ‘Well, um, thanks for everything you’ve done up there.’ After a thoughtful pause he ran to Manuel in two strides and threw his arms around him. ‘Oh, and a hug for you.’ He added, with his cheeks abashed with dull blush and as Manuel’s dirty blond hair brushed past his face he smelled a pleasant fragrance of mint. ‘Don’t be upset over a defeat. It’s really nothing, it’ll pass in no more than two days – I know it from my personal experience and this is averaged out from the statistics I’ve all collected from the past.’ Thomas rambled, ‘Besides, you are still the best seeker, don’t you forget that.’

Manuel couldn’t suppress a giggle, ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

That night the Slytherins hosted a grand party for him in the common room – everything one could expect to be in a grand party, it had it all. Thomas was full and exhausted and crowed himself hoarse when they finally decided to call it a day and go back to their respective dorms for a sweet slumber. But as he sank into his bed he was anything but drowsy.

‘All settled?’ Mats’ asked with a somewhat curious look while putting on his pyjamas. Thomas hummed a ‘yes’. But clearly it only whetted Mats’ appetite even more as he kept pumping his roommate for more details, ‘What were you chatting about up there during the game? What was so important that you’d rather leave everything aside all for a light chat in such a fierce game?’

Thomas turned around to leave a silhouette for him as a sign of bringing this inquiry to a standstill, ‘It’s none of your business.’ said him crisply, his pointed canine gleaming in the dim light as a merry smile escaped his lips.

‘Huh, I see, keeping secrets like every besotted dork will do. The first flush of romance. No surprise at all.’ snorted Mats sarcastically.

‘I’m not in love with him.’

‘But my observation tells me the opposite. And I trust my own eyes.’

No one could tell whether Mats Hummels’ eyes were one of, if not, the sharpest eyes of them all in Hogswarts. But it didn’t actually need the keen eye to notice that there was something going along between the prefects of Gryffindor and Slytherin when Manuel showed up in the great hall for breakfast with a silver-and-emerald striped scarf loosely wrapping around his neck on Saturday morning, half an hour before the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. It earned him numerous curious glances and gossiping whispers from the students sitting by the table.

Thomas knew nothing about the stirs in the great hall cause by then he had already left for the dressing room to get himself changed. There in this tiny dark room Mats gave a vehement pep talk as usual, and all was the same when they walked out to the daylight, faced with hundreds of spectators roaring and barking into a frenzied flush of excitement while kissed by the light soothing breeze. Everything went as usual. After a shrill whistle all fourteen players soared up into the sky and Thomas quickly flew away from the others and patrolled around the pitch as always.

All went on in a most familiar way as was expected, until something unusual caught his eyes. As he glided past the Gryffindor stand he noticed a streak of green standing out in red waves in drastic contrast. Gazing down keenly, he saw Manuel waving at him – he wore a Slytherin scarf and had a pair of binoculars in his hand, his face etched against the crowds in the back and consequently it could be seen clearly even from a distance. He was smiling at him, and as their eyes met Thomas felt something stir inside him.


	3. A Pain in the Arse

Thomas had never actually loved Potions, or put it another way, he had never actually loved what was taught in Potions class but otherwise everything involved potions was quite intriguing to him. He, along with his buddy Mats, was keen on trying their own formula which mostly ended up with a loud blast in either the dungeon or a disused restroom. They were known to be a notorious potions-making duo who at the same time loathed the Potions class like most of the students at Hogwarts. They too, could have just given up on further studying on Potions like most people did after they passed the O.W.Ls, but in the end they decided to carry on. Personally Thomas believed that the reason why they ticked Potions when the timetable was handed to them was that they felt it would be better for their career as a Potions-maker if they could avoid blowing up all their customers.

With the resolution of not causing another explosion this day, they walked into the dungeon for Potions lesson. They had to attend Potions class twice a week, one on Monday and one on Thursday and today was their first Potions lesson this week. Their Potions master was called Hermann Gerland, an old wizard of tiny build, who was quite strict with his students and ill-tempered.

Manuel was also one of the brave guys who ticked Potions on the timetable. He was there earlier than everyone else, sitting alone and flipping through his old textbook while sliding glances at the doorway several times. He cracked a dazzling smile with a brisk greeting when Thomas brushed past him. Mats made a face behind them.

There were three cauldrons laid in line on the long table in the front, each was bubbling crisply. The one in the middle let out a lovely fresh fragrance that Thomas couldn’t help taking another big sniff, and when he turned around he found out Mats was just doing the same with a blissful look. He seemed to be totally revelled by whatever was inside.

Gerland started the class with a terse cough. He paced to and fro as the hem of his long robe swept over the cold floor while gazing at them with his eagle eyes. His grey eyes flicked from face to face and at last fell on those cauldrons containing fizzing potions. ‘Who can tell what these potion are? – starting from the one on my left.’ asked him in a stern manner, ‘Arjen?’

‘It’s the Draught of Living Death, sir.’ answered the Ravenclaw boy.

‘Correct. And the one on my right?’

‘It’s the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, sir.’

‘And the one in the middle?’

‘It’s Amortentia, the love potion.’

‘Well done. Five points to Ravenclaw.’ said Gerland, ‘You can tell it from its similar lustre to pearl and the steam spiralling up in plumes.’ He took a brief pause for them to scribble his words down, ‘And as its name shows, you will smell whatever you are infatuated with – roasted meat, basked covers or even soap, it varies from person to person–’

‘I smell mint,’ Thomas breathed a whisper into Mats' ear, ‘or something like that. But I never actually like mint. It must go wrong, or it simply doesn’t work on me.’ Thomas wrinkled his nose as a look of bemusement registered on his face, ‘What do you smell from it?’

‘Pizza.’ answered Mats briefly, still with that besotted and blissful look.

By the end of the class Gerland assigned them loads of homework including two essays and reading the next chapter they were about to learn next week. Apart from that, he told them that there would be a quiz on Thursday and they were required to bone up on everything they had learned so far.

‘That’s half of the book!’ grumbled Thomas with a gloomy face while jostling his way through the crowds, making for the great hall, ‘And to remind you the Potions book is more like a brick than a book. Instead of killing someone with a poison I say it's more likely and effective to smash him to death with my Potions book.’

‘You could just kill me with your Potions book right here.’ Mats moaned. It seemed that his head turned even bigger with the haggard look he had right now, ‘Oh, Merlin. I could really use some comfort.’

Thomas knew the word ‘comfort’ meaning none other than Benedikt Höwedes.

Having finished the lunch, Thomas was once again left alone, with the brick-like Potions book under his arms, wobbling down the corridor. Mats had bidden him farewell and left for the warm cuddle of his boyfriend so he was all himself once again, roaming around the castle like a ghost just like what had happened on Valentine’s Day.

Thomas was aware that he probably should head back directly to the Slytherin common room and use the time to do his revision, but he didn’t feel like to. Peering out of the window, he could see dazzling shafts of sunlight gild the lake and out there on the lawn a beech tree cast the shadows down on the soft grass. It was a spring day, and it was all too nice and lovely to waste the time confining himself in the dormitory in loneliness.

He tripped briskly across the lawn towards the beech tree and settled himself down in the shadow, laying propped against the heavy trunk as the soft grass rubbed comfortably against his ankle. The Potions book was laid open on his legs. He skimmed through the texts, trying to recite those important passages and it didn’t take him long to sink into drowsiness with the names and ingredients of those potions coming and going through his mind.

Having yawned for what seemed to be the hundredth time, he finally gave in, laying back to the grass and stretching himself for a more comfortable position while covering his face with the book open to create a dark, serene environment for a light doze. Unfortunately hardly had he settled before someone else intruded – somebody was treading on the grass. The crisp rustle sounded like thunders as it was hovering by his ear.

‘I was reviewing for the quiz, really, for about half an hour.’ Thomas drawled with a hint of displeasure in his muffled voice, too tired and drowsy to even move a finger, ‘And now it’s time for a break, or half-time if you say so, should you know a thing or two about the Muggle sports.’

‘Too bad I know nothing about that, but I presume you can fill me in?’ a soft voice sounded above him and instantly jerked him out of the drowsiness. It was not Mats, definitely not. Now Thomas was wide awake.

‘Manuel!’ He crowed, sitting bolt upright and consequently knocking the Potions book on the ground askew. But he couldn’t care about it. ‘What a surprise...’ He shrilled in between nervous giggles, ‘I mean, how come we always come upon each other? It’s like you are always thinking what I’m thinking… So, um, are you also here to revise for the quiz?’

‘Um, I’m not.’ said Manuel in an awkwardly low voice. Not until then did Thomas realize that he didn’t have a Potions book under his arms. In fact, he didn’t have anything in his hands.

‘I come here to soak up some sun.’ Manuel later added, sitting down next to him.

Thomas suppressed the impulse of telling him it was a stupid idea of sitting in the shade to sunbathe himself, not the proper time to let out his inner-Slytherin-badass-self.

They sat quietly for a moment, with only the whispers of breeze around them. The smell of grass wafted up and drifted into Thomas’ nostrils, which was quite refreshing. And along with it was a familiar scent which he had smelled in Potions class – the fresh fragrance of mint. But as he glanced around there was no mint in sight. He pouted in bewilderment.

‘What’s up?’ asked Manuel instantly. He had the ability to notice the slightest change of facial expressions and clearly this one didn’t go unnoticed by him.

‘Nothing.’ replied Thomas quickly, his eyes still roving around the lawn, ‘Hey, can you tell me what you smelled from Amortentia?’

Manuel bit his lips for a thoughtful moment, ‘The smell of dewy grass. Nothing else.’ As he said he snatched a quick glance at Thomas by stealth.

‘Oh, that’s quite relatable. I guess everyone loves that.’ After a brief pause he continued, ‘I smelled mint. I’m not saying it’s peculiar but for me personally I didn’t expect it to be the scent of mint cause I don’t actually like it. I was expecting something like the smell of spring breeze or baked bread.’

Manuel pondered on it for a while, ‘Maybe you are immune to its powers.’ He concluded at last. His assumption found an echo in Thomas’ mind as a quick yet somewhat incoherent ‘maybe’ slipped out of his tongue.

They were once again lapsed into contemplative silence until Manuel decided to break it – ‘How’s your revision going?’ asked him in a seemingly casual manner.

‘It sucks.’ Thomas breathed a heavy sigh, taking up his Potions book and carefully smoothing the folds before laying it beside himself with caution. While gloomily staring at the fat, chunky book, he couldn’t stifle a groan but breathe it out with a gripe, ‘What am I thinking to tick Potions when Professor McGonagall handed me the timetable?’ He shook his head miserably, ‘I must have lost my mind… choosing the lesson I hate most.’

‘I guess everyone hates Potions.’ Manuel echoed.

‘Then why did you choose it?’

Instead of giving a prompt answer like he always did, Manuel remained quiet this time, struck an attitude of contemplation with his forehead furrowed and his lips pursed. Thomas’ eyes followed Manuel’s intent stare gazing into the distance and finally flicked back on his face, while meditatively regarding his deeply-lined, half-shadowed face, he somehow read the words which he failed to say in his brooding eyes.

‘You chose it because of me, didn’t you?’

Manuel took a long pause before opening his mouth, ‘I chose it because I think it might be quite useful but yeah–’ Now he turned his gaze back at Thomas with a lopsided smile, ‘mostly because of you.’

‘Sorry for tricking you aboard a sinking ship.’ Thomas mumbled in a muffled voice, his eyes dropping to avoid Manuel’s stare while he fiddled with the crisp yellowish leaves of the Potions book, ‘Or sunken ship, depends on how you see it.’

‘I think it’s fairer to say that I boarded the ship of my own accord, if you ask me how I see it.’

A smile was in full bloom on Thomas’ flushed face. Cheered up by a rush of euphoria on seeing Thomas’ smiling face, Manuel hummed a breezy tune in his good humour and with that light-hearted melody ringing around them, Thomas picked up his book and turned to where he had left it. Manuel craned his neck to steal a quick glance at his features hardened in deep concentration – all of a sudden an idea flashed through his mind.

‘Hey, you wanna sneak out tonight?’ Manuel peeped, his voice a bit of shaky due to a flush of excitement racing in the veins as he gazed at Thomas, unconsciously holding his breath in an attitude of prayer while waiting in a fever of euphoria.

Thomas put down the book, showing his face contorted with astonishment, ‘Sneak out?’

‘Sneak out.’ Manuel repeated, ‘Like every cool Gryffindor would do for once during his time at Hogwarts.’

‘Sneak out to where?’

Manuel tapped his chin quickly as all those bold ideas flashed through his head, ‘The kitchen? I don’t know, but Lewy said it’s worth a visit. They have some really fancy food on the shelves. And I know there are some secret tunnels in the castle that lead to somewhere in Hogsmeade. If we are lucky, we can sneak out to Hogsmeade should I be able to find the right way. The Restricted Section isn’t a bad option either. I know there are some fascinating books about the Defence Against the Dark Arts, and of course there gotta be some about Potions. Maybe we can work out why Amortentia doesn’t work on you.’

‘But they’ll catch us!’

‘They won’t. We sneak in and sneak out. Nobody will ever find out anything about it.’

Thomas didn’t give him a prompt response. So Manuel ventured, ‘Well, are you in or not?’

‘I fancy an adventure to the Restricted Section.’ said Thomas at long last.

‘Okay. I’ll wait you at the armour’s suits on second floor at midnight.’ said Manuel briskly, grinning from ear to ear with glowing sparkles in his bright eyes.

Thomas spent almost the whole afternoon lying in the cool shades under the beech tree with Manuel, laughing and shooting the breeze. He didn’t go back to the dormitory until sunset when they agreed that it wasn’t the time for sunbath anymore and by then Mats was already back. He squinted a quick glance at his roommate, who took back a waft of dewy grass, and went back with his essay, flinging himself into the study of Potions.

Thomas flipped his Potions book open and tried to concentrated on reciting those names which were quite mouthful. However as his gaze drifted out to the swaying weed in the lake, whose big branchy shadow outlined against the iron grey waters, which reminded him exactly of that beech tree, he couldn’t help reliving the pleasure this afternoon over and over again. Itched by that blissful look, Mats made no attempt to hide his curiosity and asked, ‘Where have you been this afternoon?’

‘Nothing. Just sitting around in the shades of that beech tree, with Manuel.’

Mats rolled his eyes, ‘Oh, then I guess I know what was happening.’ His remark earned him a stern sideways stare, ‘Or you tell me what else happened there.’ He retorted.

Thomas didn’t have the intention of bickering with him for trivialities, instead he whipped a scroll of parchment and flattened it carefully, scribbled down his name and the title and after these it came to a standstill. The quill was hung in mid-air as Thomas suddenly was overcome by a bundle of thoughts while staring dreamily at nothing specific without noticing that the ink was streaming down and blotting the paper.

‘You know… he’s pretty nice, really.’ murmured Thomas, lost in thoughts, ‘He’s kind to me, even I rejected him. Now I see your point of why I’m an ignorant dope. What a dumb am I to ignore all of those…’

‘Are you still planning to finish your potions essay or would you rather just sit there petrified while admiring the qualities of a Gryffindor like an idiot? I won’t say a word if you choose the latter.’ said Mats sarcastically.

‘That you decide to work on potions essay really surprises me.’

‘Because I don’t want to get a detention this weekend.’ Mats snorted, ‘Benni and I are going to Hogsmeade on Sunday. He says this is the reward I deserve – a day for relaxing and to refresh myself.’

‘And a day when all who live in Hogsmeade shall be remembered, alas, for all the sufferings that Mats Hummels brings to them.’ Thomas sighed in mock sorrow with a flourish, and dodged just in time before a pillow hit him square on the face.

Mats crawled back to bed at half past eleven while Thomas, waiting in fever of his oncoming adventure, was wide awake. He cleared up the stuff scattered all over the table and switched off the light before sneaking out of his dormitory. There was only a glimmer of green light guttering in the lamp dangling from the ceiling of the Slytherin common room. Everyone was sound asleep. There was no sound except for the snores coming from the boys’ rooms and the light crackles of sparks from fireplace. He passed the stone door smoothly and ascended a flight of stairs in quick strides. After what seemed to be eternity he finally came to the second floor.

 _So far so good_ , thought Thomas as he breathed a sigh of relief.

The armour’s suits was at the other end of the corridor and as he trotted through the long carved columns he kept looking back over his shoulder, for a bad vibe of being watched by something kept haunting him.

Manuel was already there, lurking in the shadows behind the armour’s suits. Judging by his pale and shivering lips and from the way he cuddled himself by tightly wrapping himself up with his robe, he must have been waiting there for quite a while. His eyes gleamed with mirth and he appeared to be a trifle relieved when he saw Thomas sidling quietly this way.

‘I was wondering if you would come.’ said him rapturously under his breath, ‘Well, now off we go.’

However Thomas stood there motionless, ‘Are we really gonna do this?’ asked him with an explicit touch of apprehension in his shaky voice as he glanced around, ‘While on my way here I keep having a bad inkling that something’s watching us in the dark.’

‘But I don’t see anything from here.’ Manuel’s eyes swept across the whole place and everywhere he saw was nothing but swaying shadows, ‘Filch’s not here. No Peeves, not any professor in sight. We are all safe and clear.’

An ominous silence seized Thomas from inside. He knew Manuel was right about it and maybe it was only him acting hysterical, nonetheless he couldn’t suppress the rush of intense anxiety sweeping over him in waves. Deep down there was a voice telling him to turn back but somehow he decided to ignore it anyway when he saw Manuel’s expectant face.

_If anything happens, better blame it on my inner- Gryffindor-self, the one which is totally overlooked by the Sorting hat._

‘Then we better hurry.’ he whispered, ‘One more second meaning bigger risk.’

Thomas couldn’t believe his good luck for they didn’t see another soul all the way to the library. And to top it all, Madam Pince, the crabby librarian, was turning her back at them to stuff some of the chunky magic books into the shelves and therefore they slipped in successfully without being noticed.

The Restricted Section lay hidden in the deepest end of the library where not even a single streak of light could be seen. They zigzagged through a labyrinth of shelves with only a faint light blinking at the tip of their wands to illuminate their path. As carefully as they could possibly be, every now and then they would pause for several seconds to see if there was anything suspicious and wouldn’t march forward until all was clear. And as time dragged by Thomas’ anxiety slowly gave way to an optimistic mood since by far everything seemed pretty good.

They had just passed a shelf containing all sorts of books about Defence against the Dark Arts and had to repress the impulse of pulling out those with intriguing titles and fascinating looks. Now they were threading their way between the shelves full of books about Herbology – it was quite a spectacle cause some of those books were actually woven by magic plants and there were branches sticking out from the shelf and even moving or jigging itself up and down without any breeze here.

Thomas was in awe of all of this. He trotted forwards in two strides to catch up with Manuel, clinging to his arm and nudging him in the ribs gently while exclaiming in under tones, ‘Look at those! Is that catnip?’ 

‘I think it’s more like sage.’ Manuel wrinkled his nose as its smell didn’t agree with his taste, ‘Professor Sprout says only Kneazle likes it.’

They slid silently under the twisted and gnarled twigs and turned down to another aisle where was even darker and suffocating. In the shimmers lighting up the tip of the wand they read the title of the nearest book. It was carved in the spine of the book like tattoos.

‘ _Everything You Need to Know about Poisoning Your Enemies,_ ’ murmured Manuel, ‘Hey, I think we find it!’ crowed him excitedly in a low whisper. He pulled out the book quickly and hastened to flip through the pages, ‘No, not here. It doesn’t say anything about Amortentia–’ He grumbled, stuffing the book into its place with some difficulty and starting to look for the next one without a second of delay.

Wishing they were somewhere else instead of a stifling, confined place, Thomas looked around anxiously, immensely in fear that Madam Pince would suddenly show herself from behind one of those shelves the next second. It felt like their every peep was amplified by the stillness and echoing fiercely within the four walls, as clear as the rumble of thunder. 

‘Um, I think it’s time to leave, really.’ said Thomas in a timid voice as that uneasy feeling became stronger as time ticked by.

However Manuel was too attentive for an answer to pay him any attention as he had just shoved another book in the shelf with a disgruntled look, ‘Not in here either.’ He grunted unhappily, ‘Maybe we are looking in the wrong section…’

‘But we can’t risk sneaking to the front... or she’ll hear us.’

As he said, as if in tune with his remark, there came a rustle from the other end of the aisle. Nerves taut and feeling a chill down to his spine, Thomas felt his heart almost stop dead when he saw a shadow with peculiar shapes swaying at where the rustle sounded. 

‘Um, Manuel…’ Thomas murmured, tugging the sleeve of Manuel’s robe. Yet the latter was still deeply immersed in searching and for a split second it seemed that he almost lost his mind when he cried with exhilaration and wrenched Thomas’ arm in a swift motion which nearly got him stumbled. 

‘I found it! I found it!’ he squeaked, ‘Look at this one – _Amortentia: Hexed Loves and Children Spawned from a False Love._ This is it! Let’s see what we can find.’

‘No, Manuel, forget about Amortentia. We are in trouble.’ said Thomas urgently.

Following the direction where his finger pointed, at the other end of the aisle loomed a pair of wicked, gleaming eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, a grumpy cat and a pain in the arse. It was all too clear that in no time would she head for her master, who talked in an even grumpier manner and whose eyes shined even more wickedly. 

‘Should I give her an _Incarcerous_?’ suggested Thomas in an uncertain tone. He didn’t have much time to fully mull it over as it was a matter of urgency and this was, strictly speaking, the only workable plan he could come up with at this moment. But obviously Manuel had some disagreements.

‘Transfigure me into a cat and let me handle this.’ said him steadfastly with his fists clenched in an air of confidence while gazing into those two luminous spots.

‘What? Are you nuts?’

‘I’m a Gryffindor. Gryffindors are known to be a bunch of nuts.’ Manuel argued.

‘But that’s too risky. I’ve never tried transfiguring a person before – unless you count that accident in the Three Broomsticks in.’

‘Fear not, we have Dr. Wohlfahrt.’ said Manuel with great dash, ‘Quick, wave your wand. Or she’ll sprint out for Filch anytime!’

Sighing, Thomas gave in and whipped his wand with a quick flick. With a pop, Manuel was immediately draped in a thick mist. Seconds later, after the smoke dispersed, right on where Manuel had been standing before was a giant tabby cat. His fur was sleek orange and flourishing. And the way he stood there told everyone that he was no ordinary cat, but the personification of glamour and nobility.

Mrs. Norris stared vigilantly at this strangely-behaved newcomer, her eyes were deadly cold. As Manuel strutted pompously to her with his nose up in the air and his furry tail twitching elegantly, she arched her back a fraction and hissed threateningly. 

_Bribe her with your charisma, Manuel._ Thomas subconsciously posed an attitude of prayer as he folded his hands and interlaced his fingers.

Now they were staring at each other nose against nose. Manuel jerked his head backwards in an overly arrogant air to show a ring of pure white fur beneath his chin, which looked like a fancy necklace, while his tail swept across the marbled floor in a most graceful manner.

Mrs. Norris was still motionless, as a result of which, Manuel figured it was time to play his trump card. He shook his whole body in a supercilious fashion and then started licking his fluffy fur in a flirtatious way.

_Smooth it out, Manuel. Oh, she moves, it works! Nail it–_

A shrill, pathetically wretched meow rang around the whole room, so loud and mournful that Thomas felt his heart was pierced through and so did every other living thing inside this room as they started shivering and howling fiercely. Covering his ears to protect himself from the deafening screams, Thomas saw Manuel laying prone on the ground. His ears drooped and his tail was now laying deathly in stillness. His fur was no longer glossy and his butt was bleeding.

Mrs. Norris stood towering over him with her chin up in a Queen’s manner. Clearly she was pleased with what she had done. She squinted a glance at the vanquished with no mercy in her wickedly-glittering eyes. Seeing him holding back a whimper, satisfied and with a triumphant flare lurking in her eyes, she sashayed away, with both her nose and tail up in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not until I wrote this chapter did I realize that there were not many magical plants mentioned in Harry Potter cause most of the plants in the books can actually be found in real world, save for gillyweed maybe (even Mandrake is real, but of course it doesn't fit the description in the books)  
> I'm no expert in botany so it may appear a bit of strange how Thomas mistook sage for catnip. I typed the word 'catnip' into the searching engine and tried to find plants sharing most striking resemblance with it and the word 'sage' just popped up. (or we can just presume that Thomas did terrible in Herbology and couldn't tell sage from catnip)


	4. The Customer Who Was Most Welcomed by Hog’s Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Whenever I close my eyes, I see a crescent scar dancing in and out of my sight and sometimes I even hear it meowing.’  
> ——says Thomas Müller, at some point when he was once again waking up from a nightmare.

Interpreting cats’ behaviours was not among Thomas’ many an accomplishment, but honestly, it didn’t actually need a zoologist to tell what that grumpy cat’s act meant. She was infuriated, obviously, and her desire for revenge was so strong that Thomas could smell it in the air.

He didn’t know why she suddenly threw a fit at Manuel. In any case it would be an intriguing subject in the study of zoology, but not for now. At this moment he wasn’t in a mood of digging out the reason why she held such a grudge against Manuel that she would attack him in whatever way she could when he was trapped in a dark room with hundreds of thousands of screaming books, along with a bleeding cat, to make matters even worse.

He heard Madam Pince roaring in the front, demanding those books to shut their mouths. But they were not quite cooperative. The books were squeaking and cursing in a taunting manner while she hurried her way to the Restricted Section, they showed no fear under her threat and shrilled that in no way would they mute their voice for even a tiniest bit.

‘You’ll all be expelled!’ she bellowed angrily after she finally lost her patience, ‘And you should all be dumped on those dusty shelves in the Muggle library! Life sentence!’

 _Merlin’s beard. She’ll tear us into pieces if she finds out we are the culprits,_ murmured Thomas to himself in a dither. He hid himself in the shadows of a large shelf, pricking up his ears and with Manuel in his arms – the giant cat was whimpering quietly against his chest, rubbing his tears all on Thomas’ robe.

Seconds later Madam Pince stomped in sight. As she was busy poking those barking magic books with her wand, Thomas stealthily slid to the other side of the shelf. He tried to keep his head down and hid himself as well as his shadow all in darkness while ghosting down the aisle. It went smoothly, until–

He stumbled. In a flurry, at first Thomas couldn’t make out what it was but something soft and fluffy. It took him a while to realize it was Mrs. Norris. She was licking a twig which dangled from high above his head. It later came to him that it was a sage twig.

‘Keep quiet!’ Thomas mouthed at her. Mrs. Norris blinked. It seemed that she somehow understood, at least in the sight of Thomas.

However, when her eyes fell on what he was holding against his chest, all of a sudden her face was contorted with rage and she started pawing the ground. On seeing that grim look Thomas knew he was a marked man, and as for the one in his arms – a marked cat. She howled.

‘Who’s there?’ barked Madam Pince.

At this point Thomas could care less whether he should remain hidden or not. He swooshed out of the shadows, sprinting for the exit with Manuel in his arms, totally throwing caution to the wind. Those crusty books were cheering rapturously at him, while Madam Pince was raging at his back. In a spurt of speed he charged through the door of the screaming library to the quiet, dark corridor on the second floor, yet Thomas didn’t slow his pace. He galloped down the corridor like a racing horse and didn’t stop for a breath until he was safe behind the door of his dormitory.

Mats was awakened by the noise, poking his head up from behind the emerald velvet and glaring at him with dazed eyes.

‘What the fuck are you up to at three o’clock in the morning?’ he snarled indignantly, and sunk back to a trance at once before Thomas could utter a word.

Laying the cat gently on the windowsill, in the silver shimmers from a lamp jar Thomas saw the bloody crescent bite mark that Mrs. Norris left on Manuel’s butt. ‘Oh Manuel…’ He couldn’t suppress a sigh – it tore his heart out to see his friend suffer, ‘Why would she even do this to you?’

He smoothed away a wisp of fur stuck to the bloody wound and was relieved to see that fortunately the bite was not very deep. After he finished dressing the wound it was already half past three, he cradled the cat in the arms and took him back behind the emerald curtains of his four-posters. Manuel cuddled himself into a fluffy ball and quickly fell asleep, snoring shallowly.

By the narrow beam of light peeping through the chink Thomas saw that crescent scar dancing up and down with the rhythm of Manuel’s breathing. Even though he had used the recovery spell, the scar was still there. Maybe because it was no ordinary bite, maybe that was what a Kneazle’s bite would do to its victim – a scar deeply etched to his skin as well as his memories.

Gazing at the sleeping cat thoughtfully, Thomas heaved a heavy sigh. But as the sky grew brighter he couldn’t bring himself to remain awake for one more second and fell into slumber the instant his head rest on the pillow.

It must be pretty late when he woke up the next day. The golden beam penetrating through the chink stung his eyes and rendered him a trifle disoriented. He felt his head leaning against something soft – it didn't actually feel like pillow. It was tight, firm and springy, like the touch of muscle.

 _Muscle._ Thomas’ heart missed a beat, _shit._

He rolled out of the covers immediately, sitting petrified on top of the heap of clothes at the end of the bed, vacantly staring at where was supposed to lie an orange cat. Wriggling by the edge of the pillow was no longer that giant tabby cat, but Manuel, in his human form.

Right now the only thing that preyed on Thomas’ mind was that how he managed to muddle through the Transfiguration exams, as he looked at Manuel with a blank face, dumbfounded.

And then the thoughts about that crescent scar bubbled to the surface. _Maybe the scar will simply disappear after he changes back?_ He whispered to himself, feeling a glimmer of hope, _or it will fade away as time drags by._

Curious and meanwhile feeling it needed to give it a check himself, Thomas crept forwards on all fours and stretched his hand, carefully lifting the hem of Manuel’s robe with two fingers and right when he was about to peel it off from him, Manuel’s eyes jerked open.

Thomas eyes widened the moment their gazes met each other. He tried to act innocent, but the way he swallowed and his burning cheeks betrayed him, leaving no room for manoeuvre. The Gryffindor prefect’s eyes then shifted to his hand freezing in the air. There was a significant look flickered across his face when he felt a morning breeze brushing against his butt.

‘If you don’t mind,’ croaked Manuel, gesturing at his lifted robe, ‘It’s a bit of cold out there.’

Nodding robotically, Thomas hastened to loosen the squeeze on Manuel’s robe, it drifted down on the bed like a plume. Manuel smoothened the folds on his robe and the way he straightened his clothes reminded Thomas of that orange cat.

As he slowly rolled over, out of suddenness there was a glimmer of bemusement crept onto Manuel’s face. Eyebrows furrowed, he stretched his hand in a subconscious attempt to rub somewhere on his butt and grope for whatever it was that made him feel uncomfortable – there wasn’t no clearer sign than that.

‘It wasn’t me!’ Thomas blurted out, shrinking back and tightly wrapping himself up with his robe in a vain attempt to make himself look smaller, ‘I didn’t bite you!’

Manuel was utterly perplexed, ‘What happened? I mean, after I was transfigured into a cat?’

‘You were trying to bribe Mrs. Norris with your beauty but something went wrong. She flew into passion and bit you on the butt. I took you back and took care of your wound and let you sleep with me. I planned to take you to Dr. Wohlfahrt at daybreak but this morning I woke up only to find that you somehow changed back to your human form yourself.’ Thomas grunted in a hysterically shrill voice and not until he finished narrating did he pause for a breath.

‘Mrs. Norris bit me on the butt? Why would she?’

‘Maybe she thought you were a plunderer.’ Thomas hazarded a guess, ‘I stumbled on her when I tried to hide from Madam Pince. She was licking one of the twigs which we had seen before. Maybe she was defending her food.’

‘Did Madam Pince see you?’

‘I don't think she knew it was me. I ran out of the library before she could catch me. The only trace she has is a boy with a giant cat.’ said Thomas optimistically, ‘Anyway, that doesn’t matter. Right now the only thing important is that bite mark – Can you feel if there’s a scar on your butt?’

Manuel rubbed his hand against where was bitten, following Thomas’ orders, with the fabrics of his robe in between – it was rough to touch.

‘There’s a scar on it, isn’t it?’ Thomas read the answer from his lined forehead.

‘There is, but it’s only a small one–’

‘Get up.’ said Thomas decisively, ‘We are going to the hospital wing.’

While Thomas scrambled out of the bed in a crisp motion, Manuel, otherwise, was sitting motionless. ‘We can’t go to the hospital wing.’ said him sternly.

‘Look, a visit at Dr. Wohlfahrt won’t hurt. A simple flick of wand and you are free to go, and free from that nasty scar – yeah, nasty, with all due respect.’

‘No, no, you don’t see the point here. It’s a Kneazle’s bite, and how many Kneazles are out there in Hogwarts? – one. The teachers know last night there was a commotion in the library, involving a student, a cat and Mrs. Norris. If we come to the hospital wing then they can easily deduce that we were there last night, with Mrs. Norris.’ said Manuel with an apprehensive look, ‘And they’ll think, apart from the violation of curfew, you cast a Transfiguration spell on a student without the supervision of teachers. You’ll be given detentions. And hundreds of points taken! What would other Slytherins think about it if they know their prefect blows the chance of winning the House Cup this year?’

‘Then I can be honoured as the most successful spy that Hogwarts has ever seen since the day it founded. Godric must be so proud of me.’ Thomas sniffed, lying back and banging his head against the bed with an ear-splitting shriek from the mattress as if it helped him let out what was inside him now. ‘But what about the scar? You don’t wish to keep it permanently, anyway.’

‘It’s nothing, just a tiny scar. What harm could it do to me?’

Thomas didn’t answer. In fact, right now he didn’t feel like answering to anything. At this point his mind was in such turmoil that he couldn’t come up with anything coherent. The only thing he felt like to was screaming and yelling and asking why he had always messed things up, but he bit the impulse back and decided to give a minute to chill out.

‘It’s quite cool actually.’ Manuel continued a moment later, in his usually calm, soothing voice, ‘Just think about it, the famous Harry Potter had a lightning bolt on his forehead and now after twenty years, another Gryffindor, which is me, got a crescent on my butt. Kinda intriguing, don’t you think? Like a circle.’

Thomas only sniffed again in answer to his words – it was hard to tell if it was a muffled whimper or not.

A moist chilling breeze intruded through the chink. Carefully wrapping himself up, while gazing thoughtfully at Thomas, Manuel figured he better alter the conversation into another channel, ‘It’s quite fascinating, living in the lake, isn’t it? No wonder it’s so cold here.’ said him briskly while gently rocking his legs against the edge of bed. As he glanced out of the window, in the faint sunlight dissolved in the clear waters he could see herds of mermaids drifting to and fro. It was truly a spectacle, totally different from what he saw every night from his dormitory on the tower.

Thomas hummed a ‘yes’, and later added, ‘Not so fascinating when you find out a giant cuttlefish is looking fixedly at you with its bulging eyes pressing to the window while you are getting changed. I think there have been at least four or five mermaids seeing me naked.’

A loud guffaw found its way smoothly off the tip of Manuel’s tongue. Thomas, though, still bothered and frustrated about what happened last night, somehow cracked a smile as well and later joined in laughing heartily. Their laughter was half obscured by mermaids’ singing filtering in through the glass and ringing around the room as they drifted past the window.

Legends were that mermaids’ singing enchanted people, tempted them into false happiness so that it would be a breeze for them to lure those enchanted into the waters, thus killing them. But as Thomas gazed at the giggling guy, a grin tugging the corner of his lips, he knew clearly that none of this was fake, for all the warmth and mirth he felt from that smiling face aglow with excitement and the silvery laughter and the fact that he had hardly paid attention to anything mermaids’ sang whenever Manuel’s voice rang.

Mats came back earlier than usual this afternoon, charging into the room like a gust of wind with bits of half-eaten sandwich in his hand and another half in his mouth. The first thing he did after he gulped down the food was pump his roommate for everything he had missed last night.

‘I saw the Gryffindor boy sidle through the stone wall.’ said Mats eagerly, ‘So he was here the whole morning?’

‘Have another guess.’

With a loud thud, Mats dropped his Arithmancy book down to the ground.

‘Oh Merlin,’ he gaped at him, ‘I can’t believe you sleep with him.’

‘I didn’t sleep with him,’ Thomas rolled his eyes, ‘no, not in the way of what you presumed to be. We slept on the same bed, but I didn’t sleep with him, is that clear enough?’

‘But how did you smuggle him in?’ Mats’ thick eyebrows were like gnarled branches right now as he furrowed with bemusement, ‘Like, how? Hidden under your pants?’

Thomas seriously considered whether he should secretly murder this big head guy or just cast a Swelling Spell on his head. After a second of thought he dropped both schemes cause it would cost too much to hide the body and as for the second, he figured that Mats’ head was already big enough and consequently a Swelling Spell was unnecessary.

‘I hid him under my robe.’ Thomas snorted, giving him a stern sideways stare.

Thomas tried to cover every detail as he narrated their adventure last night in the library and the upshot was that he almost talked himself hoarse when he finally came to the most brilliant part where he, along with Manuel the orange tabby cat, ran for his dear life in a maze full of screeching books and a furious Madam Pince and an even more furious Mrs. Norris. Mats listened with much interest, totally into it, with his eyebrows knitted and his lips twitching. It was hard to tell whether he was trying to stifle a laugh or a sigh.

It was nearly sunset when Thomas finally finished his narration; with a brisk ‘and then he left’ he put it to an end. Knowing that his work had done, Thomas was now quite light-hearted and blew a whistle while waiting for Mats’ reply in patience. But with Mats it was a different story, as the expression on his face was torn between when one wanted to laugh his head off and when one found out that he was actually a wizard after living a Muggle life for 11 years.

‘Mrs. Norris bit him on the butt?’ asked Mats with a significant look after a long, pregnant pause.

‘Yes.’

‘Like, a really hard bite?’ He persisted.

‘Yep.’

‘So clearly she was outrageously infuriated then.’

‘You could say so.’

‘Okay, based on what I have learned,’ said Mats slowly, as if trying to suggest his roommate that he better prepare himself for whatever it was that awaited him or the rude shock would beat him down to the ground, ‘the only thing that will infuriate that wicked cat is that another female cat swanks about its own beauty in front of her. What she hates most is that someone belittles her look. That’s the only thing she can’t tolerate.’

With a dull thump, Thomas fell off his stool.

‘So you are not only suggesting that Manuel was showing off at Mrs. Norris,’ He murmured, his face registering horror, ‘but also telling me that I accidentally transfigured him into a female cat.’

‘Exactly.’

Thomas remained still for seconds as if he had been petrified, and threw himself into hysterics all of a sudden, letting out a whimper and clutching at his chest as panic swept over him – out of a spate of shock in the past 24 hours this was what frightened him most.

‘No, no, no,’ he shrieked, frightfully terrified, ‘Because I had a lapse of concentration in the middle of Transfiguration lesson, now he has to keep that nasty scar permanently. Oh man, he gotta hate me for this forever–’

‘Wait, listen, he’s the one who brought this stupid idea. Therefore, if there’s anyone who should be sorry about the whole mess, it’s he himself.’ Mats asserted, ‘He’s the one who should apologize to his own butt for all the misery it tragically underwent, not you.’

But Thomas wasn’t listening at all, ‘He could have gone to Dr. Wohlfahrt to get rid of that nasty scar, hadn’t I sprinted out and made ourselves seen–’

‘Again, his own fault.’ Mats interrupted, darting him a somewhat deprecating look, ‘If he didn’t sneak out in the first place but behaved himself like I always did, none of this would happen. He had it coming to him.’

Thomas was about to retort, but choked with a muffled sob as he once again played ostrich, burying his face in the thick velvet dangling from the canopy of his four-poster. What he felt was not only upset. It was more than that – things he couldn’t quite relate to at the present moment but he felt it tore his heart, churned inside him and made him limp with anguish which he could feel with his every fibre as it gushed from deep in his chest.

‘He’s gonna hate me for this forever.’ murmured Thomas at long last, and kept repeating it for hours as if he had been an answering machine and that had been the message left by its owner to deal with whoever called in.

The Potions quiz came faster than they thought. In the blink of an eye it was already Wednesday, which meant, there was only one day left for them to prepare themselves for the quiz. Mats no longer roamed out for the cuddles of his boyfriend but locked himself up in the dormitory trying to gulp down all those contents in one mouthful. He was so concentrated that even mermaids’ singing couldn’t distract him.

‘As I said, when you had a Potions exam crammed into your schedule, even the demons would be cute as fuck.’ Mats grumbled, following a heavy sigh.

‘Yeah, they would kneel down in front of the guy who first thought up this genius idea of giving his students some lovely Potions exam and scream that they were too young and brainless to recognize he who was crowned as the greatest devil, demon of the demons, born in ancient times when all was in chaos and forged in hellfire.’ Thomas echoed, flipping his chunky book to the next page where crept lines of words.

Though trying his best to make out each word, still, he felt like fighting a losing battle. They were like swarms of ants and after an hour of inefficient revision there was nothing useful left in his head but a troop of vague flashing black spots.

‘Maybe you should take a nap.’ Suggested Mats, after seeing his friend keeping the stiff posture with his head buried in the Potions book for about fifteen minutes.

‘Can’t.’ Thomas groaned in a muffled voice, ‘That nightmarish scar would always come back to me whenever I closed my eyes.’

That night fate played a vicious trick on him, piling on the gloom with a nightmare in which the tricky scar played the protagonist. His eyes jerked open in horror and he sat bolt upright, panting and puffing, reliving the dream as it flashed across his mind, leaving a vivid impression etched in his head. When he woke up the next morning, for a split second he felt like he was still in that dream, until Mats came urging him to hurry up or they would be late for the Potions lesson.

He did terrible in the Potions quiz. He had no doubt that he would get a ‘T’ for all those gibberish he scrawled on the parchment. Things that had nothing to do with Potions intruded into his mind consecutively in the middle of the quiz – the scar, Manuel, Mrs. Norris. They were like a bunch of naughty kids, shouting and screaming in his head, fighting for his attention and he could well say that they were all winners, except for him, who was losing in both battlefields, either in the mental world or in reality.

‘I bet Gerland will give me a detention for failing the quiz.’ grunted Thomas in undertones as they sidled out of the dungeon. They hadn’t gone far when, out of suddenness, they heard a familiar voice calling out behind them – it was Manuel. He was trotting towards them.

‘Oh no, no.’ Thomas cried, having an inkling that an impending doom was coming down on him, ‘He must know it. He knew that I transfigured him into a female cat and that I’m the culprit of the whole mess. Now here comes the day of reckoning. I’m doomed.’

‘For the love of Merlin, Thomas, I beg you–’

But Thomas was nowhere to be seen before Mats could finish his remark. The next thing he knew, he was left alone in the damp passageway, face to face with an equally nonplussed Manuel.

Effortlessly and quite predictably, Mats found Thomas in the dormitory. He was laying prone on the bed lifelessly like a corpse, burying his head in the pillow which in Mats’ view, looked like he tried to suffocate himself. Out of curiosity, Mats prodded him on the cheek and it pumped a muffled grumble out of the boy.

‘So you are not dead.’ said him airily in jest, biting his lips hard to suppress a laugh. 

‘Wish I were.’ Thomas hummed.

With a shrill moan coming from the springy mattress, Mats plopped down next to him, sighing and full of pity, he said, ‘I can’t believe you’ve gone this far.’

‘What are you blabbering on about?’

‘Nothing, just some old man’s nonsense.’

Thomas let out a hollow laugh, but it soon gave way to a grumble of bitterness.

‘See? That’s what happens when a Slytherin gets himself involved with a Gryffindor dope. I’ve warned you before, but you refused to listen.’ croaked Mats in a hoarse voice, which appeared rather nonchalant and cold-blooded to those who had little acquaintance with him but Thomas knew he had mustered up as much concern as he could and he really appreciated his efforts, yet knowing this didn’t mean consolation.

‘What should I do, grandpa?’ bleated Thomas bleakly, ‘Now I can’t even look at him. But hiding in here isn’t the solution. I can’t skip all those lessons until the end of the term and killing myself with the Potions book isn’t a practical way either cause in spite of being a ghost, I would still be seen and it would be even harder to hide my blushes when I confront him due to my translucent skin.’ Thomas rambled, making invisible strokes in the air as if picturing the sight of him drifting in the air, ‘And Bloody Baron wouldn’t make it any easier. I heard it from others that he had problematic characters and I highly doubt it whether he will accept me as his deputy.’

‘You had the point. Bloody Baron isn’t someone to cross, he might kill you twice should you dare to challenge him.’ Mats leaned closer to him and whispered, as if in fear that Bloody Baron was right behind the wall. 

As Mats’ voice died down, the sombre silence once again cast a gloomy dome down upon them, both deep in thoughts. Thomas could hear people chortling down in the common room – _surely they had the very reason to do so after finishing the Potions quiz,_ thought Thomas bitterly. But for him, it only piled on the agony with fretting about the result of the quiz, apart from everything else preying on his mind at the moment.

After what seemed like an eternity Mats opened his mouth again, with a note of exhilaration in his voice, which was to Thomas’ much bewilderment. ‘Hey, I’m thinking – maybe what you need right now is a trip to Hogsmeade.’ He crowed with sparkles in his eyes, looking like a sly fox with that shrewd stare and the wide grin. ‘A day to relax and refresh yourself. Maybe what you really need is a drinking bout, some pepper imps and hot treacle tarts.’

Hearing this, Thomas buried himself deeper in his fluffy pillow and now his voices were nothing but a fitful hum, ‘Let me rot in this cold, grim cell. I don’t deserve anything warm and lovely. I don’t deserve Hogsmeade. Don’t argue with me–’ He added with a warning look when he saw Mats’ lips twitched in a pout, ‘The answer is no. I’m not going with you.’

In spite of him strongly against a trip to Hogsmeade, when the day finally arrived however, Thomas caved in and allowed Mats to drag him out of bed. So here at the end of week, instead of rotting in the damp Slytherin common room, quite the opposite, Thomas found himself bathed in the gentle beams of sunlight while strolling down on the pavement at Hogsmeade along with Mats and his boyfriend, Benedikt. The couple loved fondling and teasing a lot whenever they were together, as far as Thomas knew, but today they remained eccentrically quiet and restrained, no romping or caressing and no jokes or guffaws either – only their interlaced fingers could tell people that they were in a relationship.

Thomas knew that they tried not to make him feel like a third wheel. Truth to be told, he didn’t actually mind being a third wheel. It was lovely to have them by his side for company and he enjoyed having them singing love songs around him. At least that was what was with him in the past, but now, as though he had grown up in the blink of an eye and therefore having different tastes, he wasn’t as joyous as he used to be when he heard those songs and every time he saw the fervent love gleaming feverishly in their eyes, he felt a void in his heart and that void would sting him whenever he attempted to distract himself with other stuff.

As they wandered deeper into the dark alleys of Hogsmeade there were less and less people around and before they knew it, they stood frozen in front of a peculiar-looking building sandwiched between two neatly-whitewashed fancy stores, which rendered its mouldy wall even duller and bleaker in drastic contrast. Up above their heads was a sloppily-hung wooden sign, which read ‘Hog’s Head’. It looked as if it would fall off anytime cause whenever someone inside the pub stamped on the floor it would dangerously quiver and thus bringing dust down on their shoulders.

‘Well, now that we are already here, why not go in and have a drink? It’s Hog’s Head after all; can’t miss it.’ said Mats cheerfully, his gaze roving from one to another. Benedikt returned an eager nod and Thomas, although still no words passed his lips, shrugged in an air of nonchalance, giving no sign of approval but not showing a hint of disapproval either.

‘Alright then, time for a drinking bout!’ Mats clamoured happily, marching through the door ahead of everyone else.

They settled down by a neatly-cleaned small table in a dark, quiet corner. At this point there weren’t many people lingering in the pub but some in shaggy cloaks sitting in twos and threes. Thomas didn’t like the astute glint lurking in their eyes as it reminded him of the predators ghosting in the dark – or more precisely, it reminded him of Mrs. Norris.

 _Mrs. Norris, the mother of all miseries._ Thomas let out a deep sigh when the name ‘Mrs. Norris’ once again came haunting him. With a loud thump his head banged against the wooden surface of the table. Benedikt almost jumped to his feet by the sudden bump, clutching his chest, rooted to the spot aghast.

‘You alright?’ asked Benedikt good-naturedly after regaining his composure. Benedikt was from Ravenclaw, he was quite easy-going and always generous with everyone unless somebody got on his nerve; and like most of the fellow students from Ravenclaw, he too, was too smart to be blessed with thick hair.

‘Can’t be any better.’ said Thomas in a gravely feeble voice.

Barely had his voice subsided before Mats came back with three large jugs containing hot frothing liquids. ‘Here you go, a full jug of Firewhiskey, a taste of joie de vivre–’ said Mats briskly, pushing the jug to Thomas and then handing another to Benedikt, ‘I leave the one with the fanciest foams to you.’ 

‘Ah, that’s sweet.’ cried Benedikt happily, cupping the jug in his hands, his face aglow with warm blushes as he hastened to take a large gulp of the whiskey, which rendered his face even more radiant.

‘Come on, Thomas, have a taste.’ Mats urged, poking the jug closer to him, ‘This is Firewhiskey! I had a devil of a job to persuade Schweini into selling it to me,’ said Mats hastily in undertones, his voice dropping to nothing but a hushed whisper which was only heard when he tried plotting a scheme with Thomas, ‘they are not allowed to sell Firewhiskey to students under 17–’

‘You know, maybe he’s right–’ Thomas’ head jerked in Benedikt’s direction when he suddenly chipped in, ‘not the part about badgering the bartender into selling something illegal to him, no, I don’t approve of that–’ said Benedikt crossly whilst quickly shooting a stern stare at Mats, who hid himself behind the amber glass in a timely motion, not owing to guilty conscience, but because he found it quite intriguing when seeing his boyfriend through glass, ‘but the whole thing, that you should take a break out of all this; on second thought I figured it may have some reason. Maybe what you need right now, as he said, is actually a drinking bout. Something to distract you from whatever disturbs you and later you’ll be able to smooth it out and see it through once you break free from those awful tangles.’

‘What I need right now–’ Thomas heaved a sigh, ‘is an Invisibility Hat. Once I put it on, Manuel will no longer see me grinning awkwardly at him with my cheeks burning hot and steams spiralling up from my head and Gerland will know that I attend the class for he could see my body, despite the head missing, and therefore he won’t take points off from Slytherin.’

Mats’ glance shifted from Thomas to Benedikt, and at last back to Thomas’ face clouded by grim melancholy.

‘Oh well, Nearly Headless Nick will be jealous of you.’ He peeped, trying to sound cheering but in the end neither of his two friends echoed.

Mouth dry and distraught with ghastly thoughts, Thomas took a deep draught of Firewhiskey and no sooner had the liquid touched his throat than he choked and was seized by a fierce fit of cough. The Firewhiskey sold in Hog’s Head was way bitterer to taste than those in The Three Broomsticks and it was not to Thomas’ liking. The second try was no better either. His eyes brimmed with tears due to a paroxysm of wheezes as the hot, spicy liquid irritated his insides, so potent that it felt like someone was scraping it with a knife.

‘I don’t like it.’ he groaned with a contorted face, shoving the jug away, ‘It’s awful. Why can’t we just stick to butterbeer?’

‘Actually you can,’ answered Mats matter-of-factly, ‘Schweini!’ He snapped his fingers at the bartender who was turning his back at them, minding his own business, ‘A cup of butterbeer for this gentleman!’

The bartender was a young man with ruffled bleached hair and a big nose with strong outlines; he seemed to be quite pleased as he trotted to them jovially, bearing a tray on which stood a large mug of butterbeer. Thomas wondered if it would splashed all out as the liquid swayed dangerously in the mug, while seeing the man skipping in this way in brisk paces. 

‘Two Sickles.’ said Schweini light-heartedly, stomping to a halt and skidding the mug down on the table in a fluid motion.

Thomas fumbled two silver Sickles out of his pocket and stuffed them into Schweini’s fist.

‘Thanks.’ Schweini beamed at him with a radiant smile, ‘There are other fancy drinks here, feel free to ask if you feel like trying something new.’

Thomas allowed himself a dry laugh, taking a sip of the beer and now he was grinning with a ridiculous foam moustache. Satisfied and seemingly pretty proud of earning himself another two Sickles, Schweini walked back in a pompous manner with silvery tinkles of coins in the pocket, tearing a page from the note to scribble. Thomas noticed that Mats was gazing at the guy behind the counter with his lips pursed – in most cases it meant that he was pondering on something.

‘It tastes like sewage,’ Thomas grimaced after a large swig, wrinkled his nose, ‘No wonder it’s cheaper here.’

‘That’s one way to say it. I’d say it’s reasonably priced, if you ask me. Schweini might even give you a discount if you ordered every one of those on the menu. Anyway–’ Mats swivelled back to the other two while his voice soared up to a hearty crow with a crisp handclap, ‘back to our business. Pour everything that troubled you out, Thomas, as much as you can. Now that we have the best romantic-relationship counsellor–’ he gave a hard squeeze on Benedikt’s shoulder, ‘better not waste the opportunity. His words worthy of tons of gold and you should feel obliged that he comes here in person–’

‘For the love of Merlin, Mats, what are you–’

‘Benni, you gotta help him,’ Mats chimed in before Benedikt could finish his words, cupping Benedikt’s hands in his own as he gazed at him in a brooding yet ludicrously-pompous air, which appeared to Thomas that he was performing some sort of drama, ‘this boy is in love with a Gryffindor. That’s illegal. We gotta save him before he is sentenced to Azkaban.’

‘I’m not in love with Ma – with him, I mean.’ Thomas protested, trying to make himself heard in between Mats’ faked wheezes and wails, which in his case was not an easy task, cause his voice was as timid as a thin trickle flowing hidden under gravels and as shaky as a leaf quivering in the north wind. This was especially the case when the name ‘Manuel’ slithered to his lips, but he managed to swallow it back with a large gulp of butterbeer, too hasty and abashed to give a fig about its rough taste as he lowered his head in a flurry to hide the blushes, but neither Mats nor Benedikt noticed it, as they were too concentrated into a fierce bicker, breathing quick, hushed whispers like that of a hissing snake.

Mats jerked his head away from Benedikt a moment later and realized that he was faced with an offhand-faced Thomas, who was sipping the liquids thoughtfully drip by drip. ‘Oh, sorry for the waiting. I was filling him in on the details, so that he could come up with a well-directed approach.’ He simpered, ‘But I figure it’s better if you retell it from your own perspective, in case I miss some particulars.’

Thomas rolled his eyes, and began his narrations for what he presumed to be the thousandth times during the past week.

‘See? The thing is, you should just give that stupid cat a Petrification Spell once you got the chance, instead of wasting your time on that Gryffindor dopey’s gibberish.’ said Mats quite sharply the instant this narration was brought to the end.

‘The thing is,’ enunciated Benedikt, emphasizing his every word in a solid, steely tone, while darting a shrewd yet stern glare at Mats, as though he was the one who wreaked havoc in the Restricted Section, ‘he shouldn’t agree to sneak out in the first place.’

At this point Thomas was weary of being lectured ceaselessly and maybe it could also partly be attributed to the dizziness brought by the liquor, now he no longer felt like talking and all he craved for was a moment of serenity, ‘The thing is,’ he snapped, ‘don’t tell me what I should have done back there, unless you know how to make an Invisibility Hat.’

Mats and Benedikt both stopped dead and gazed at him significantly.

‘Or you could just skip the class.’ Mats blurted seconds later, as he watched Thomas sipping the butterbeer quietly, almost dipping his nose into the frothing amber liquid, ‘It’s easier to invent an excuse than dab your entire face with flour, after all.’

‘Are you serious?’ Thomas sniffed as Benedikt echoed him with ‘he can’t skip the class!’ in a rather overwrought manner, ‘Failing the quiz and then skipping the class, Gerland gotta kill me – oh, that will settle everything.’ said Thomas with a withering look.

‘Then I guess skipping the class is a no-no.’ Mats pursed his lips unhappily, fiddling with his own fingers while his eyes roved elsewhere. They fell onto a piece of stained, battered parchment pinned on the wall in the back of the pub and out of the corner of his eye Thomas noticed that all of a sudden, Mats was strangely shivering with excitement – sparkles dancing vehemently inside his eyes and his hands trembled so hard that they were not able to act normally as they usually had been and he swivelled around to Benedikt at the drop of a hat.

Benedikt was however, not as vehement as his boyfriend was, he looked rather agitated, his forehead wrinkled with deep apprehension and he appeared to be squabbling with Mats as he whispered hotly under his breath.

A gentle clatter, as Mats put the glass jug down on the table after gulping down a mouthful of Firewhiskey to moisten his lips, promised that the squabble came to an end. Thomas had a foreboding that they might bombard him with another lecture; he prepared himself with a large swig of butterbeer, eyes misted by thin tears due to its strong taste and pricking up his ears, ready for whatever came out of Mats’ mouth. But to his utter surprise, Mats just said, ‘I want to have a go at everything on that menu.’

‘You argued for about ten minutes for this?’ Thomas muttered, wearing a look of disbelief.

Without any more explanation, Mats simply motioned to Schweini, took his order and scooped a handful of coins out of his handbag. In no more than five minutes Schweini came back with four trays stacked up on one another. It took him longer to neatly place the mugs all on the table than to prepare the orders.

‘Feel free to get as much as you want.’ said Schweini bracingly, and trundled back with a stack of tottering trays and pockets full of coins.

‘You see, it’s not easy for him working here.’ Mats mouthed at them both as soon as Schweini was out of earshot and squinted a furtive glance at the young man’s back, ‘Aberforth never gives him an allowance, that tight-fisted–’ bemoaned Mats as a sombre look registered on his face, ‘If he ever wanted to buy himself fancy meals or new robes, he could only pin his hope on some big spenders who happened to wander over there while he was on shift.’

‘That’s sad.’ Thomas sighed sympathetically, ‘Wish Aberforth isn’t that harsh with him.’

‘He isn’t.’ Benedikt chimed in, with his teeth tightly gritted. Just then Mats kicked him under the table, causing it to quiver. Benedikt shot a glare at him, nonetheless he kept his mouth shut and out of Thomas’ line of sight he returned Mats with a sharp jab as he prodded him with all his might.

‘Maybe we can help him.’ said Thomas tentatively, oblivious to the stirs across the table, ‘I have two Galleons left…’

‘Save it later.’ Mats croaked hastily. He gathered the cups, varying in sizes, all around in the centre of the table and gazed down at them – some of them contained hot, bubbling liquids with spiralling plumes of steam and some were thick, porridge-like; some reeked of rotting meat and some were too indescribable to tell what they were.

‘Let me see, where do we start...’ Mats murmured eagerly, rubbing his hands with excitement which was nowhere needed. His glance swept across a stack of mugs and in the end fixed on the one containing thick frothing plum-coloured liquids with mystical indigo shades, ‘I’ll go with this one.’ He took a light sip, quickly putting it down and poking the mug towards the guy sitting across, ‘It’s not actually bad. Come on, Thomas, try it.’

Vigilantly suspicious, yet curious, Thomas took the mug and took in a large gulp of beer. ‘Yeah, it’s not actually bad,’ he parroted, ‘if compared to sewage.’ He added, pushing the cup as far away as possible from himself as his face went pink due to the sudden irritation.

‘Not to your liking then? Hmm, tricky…’ Mats muttered, his fingers tapping on the rim of the mug from one to the other while he was in deep meditation, ‘How about this one?’ He nipped the cup by the rim and placed it in front of Thomas, ‘Just look at its colour. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? I’m sure so is the taste.’ said him cheerfully with a brisk handclap. Benedikt could barely stifle a snort.

‘Nope, it’s pathetically revolting.’ Thomas quickly concluded after a deep swig of the liquor, ‘Sorry to let you down. You better cross it out of your menu and keep it in mind that never allowing that thing on your table.’

Mats nodded innocently, and without giving Thomas a second of pause, he quickly swept another mug full of lightly-foaming, translucent cyan liquids along under Thomas’ nose. It was decorated with fresh mint, with several ice cubes floating on the surface which appeared at least outwardly, quite intriguing.

‘Try this.’ said Mats decisively, while peering closely at his features for even the slightest movements of his facial muscles to look for the sign of approval. Yet Thomas only shook his head in answer to his expectant face as he promptly dropped the cup in haste, as if one more second of holding would cost him his dear life.

‘Merlin, it tastes like hot mustard.’ He managed to cough out some incoherent words through his tightly clenched teeth after forcing down the spicy liquor, ‘What in the world is he doing back there? Brewing potions? It smells even nastier than the Fire-Dousing Draught we made back when we were in our fourth grade. The one which blasted the restroom, remember?’

‘It can’t be that bad.’ said Mats nonchalantly with a chuckle, ‘I don’t believe it. There gotta be some suited to your palate.’

Though he had buckets of confidence, as time dragged by, even Mats had to admit that he was banging the head against a brick wall as none of these drinks were to Thomas’ liking. One by one as more and more mugs laid in stacks, (tottering on the edge of the table, only to be steadied by an enchantment performed by Benedikt) Thomas felt his patience slowly worn out. He just shoved a jug, full of thick, bubbling, steely-grey liquid, far away from himself, so as to keep himself away from the steaming stink and right now what was held in his cupped hands – a cup of mead, as was called – didn’t look quite promising either.

Thomas had no idea why Mats was so intent on this – like, come on, he wasn’t a three-year-old and he knew how to get himself a drink. The moment came when he was close to letting all those thoughts slip out loud, but in the end he bit his lip and swallowed those sarcastic remarks back when he saw the bright glitters sparkling in Mats’ eyes as he was glowing with exhilaration out of expectations, for he feared that he might deal a blow to his friend’s self-esteem and he knew it in his heart that despite all the fuss, Mats cared about him after all.

He swigged down a mouthful of what he wasn’t certain what it was under Mats’ intent stare and shuddered as it touched his throat. Mats looked concerned, ‘Well, how about this one?’

‘Too bland.’ said Thomas frankly, wiped his mouth clean and pushed the mug away with a crisp move, making a mental note of crossing this one out as well. Whilst his eyes quickly swept across the table, he was relieved to find out that it was finally down to the last as there was only one mug left on this side of the table, standing aloof. In its solitary stillness it didn’t appeared to be more attractive either, as its colour seemed to be duller without being clustered around by colours of different shades in profusion reflected off the glass.

As he gazed down at the thick froth, beneath which was sewage-like liquid and something like a thin layer of ash in the bottom, Thomas figured he better leave it there for there was no shred of sign that this one would be to his liking and in all likelihood it might burn a hole on his palate. Yet he felt like giving it a try. He wasn’t sure if it was the impulse brought by the alcohol at work or simply out of curiosity, but while he peered at the thin mist spiralling up, with the hot cup held in his cold, shivering hands, strangely, he was no longer mad with panic and the idea of making an Invisibility Hat seemed to be drained off from his head. For the first time in the past days, he was as happy and carefree as he used to be.

He picked up the mug with his trembling hands and brought it under his nose, first sniffing at it and then, quite gingerly but boldly as well, took a tentative sip. As though enchanted, he rallied to a hearty smile of radiance after a mouthful and promptly swigged down another large gulp.

‘I can’t believe I’m going to say this but this one is fantastic!’ exclaimed Thomas jovially, beaming.

‘Why am I not surprised?’ Benedikt whispered under his breath in a defiant air, still glaring at Mats, ‘Too much alcohol in the play, got your brain messed up… even sewage would taste like a cute mixture of tonic and milkshake after being served all this…’ he growled with a deadpanned face while airily poking his wand at the stack of mugs to keep them still and steady.

‘It’s actually great, try it, Benni.’ Thomas crowed. He mistook Benedikt’s behaviours as a sign of craving for a gulp, as his head spun like a racing wheel and was too dizzy to comprehend everything in a way that was commonly agreed that he, spontaneously, took a conspicuous hint of sarcasm as affection.

‘Oh, I think I better pass it,’ On hearing his name Benedikt stammered with an awkward smile, at last darted his glance at Thomas instead of fixing his eyes deadly at Mats, ‘I’ve tried it before, but not to my taste, really.’

Thomas breathed a sigh of sorrow, ‘Pity.’ He bemoaned, swigging down half of the liquid in one mouthful as though a simple sip wouldn’t suffice to express his regret.

‘Eh, you really should take a pause. You still have class tomorrow.’ said Benedikt apprehensively, but Thomas just shrugged.

‘Who would care about that when in the middle of a drinking bout?’ He drawled, and swigged down the remnants before hurling the cup down on the table with a crisp, table-quivering thud.

‘Atta boy, that’s the spirit!’ Mats cried cheerfully, ‘Schweini!’ he yelled at the young bartender busying himself cleaning the counter, ‘One more shot here!’

For a split second it looked as though Schweini almost reduced to tears of joy, as he trotted to the front and his eyes swept across from one to the other for a trace of affirmation, flabbergasted, ‘You wished for another cup of th – this?’ his voice trembled fiercely, whilst his eyes were mad with overflowing ecstasy.

‘Yeah, this one.’ Mats pointed at the cup by Thomas’ hand, ‘What is this one called?’

‘The Bewitched Sewage.’

Mats blinked with a blank face.

‘Right, we want a cup of this–’ Mats muttered slowly, ‘Pay him the money, Thomas.’

Dazed, and numb as though he had his whole body dipping into the icy waters, he fumbled two Galleons out of the pocket, with his uncontrollably-trembling hands, and thrust them into Schweini’s big fist. It took him several failed attempts to tuck them into where he wanted them to be.

‘One second.’ said Schweini briskly, and vanished in a flash as he ran to the back of the pub, yelling, ‘Aberforth! Come and see this! You won’t believe it! He paid me two Galleons for a batch of Bewitched Sewage! I did it!–’

There followed a sudden flurry of exhilaration in the back of the pub, mingled with heavy footsteps and cheers, and a hoarse but joyous voice which Thomas was pretty sure belonged to none other than Aberforth Dumbledore.

What the voice said, or shrilled, Thomas may never know, at least not for now, for he already drank himself into a stupor, banging his head against the table with a solid thump and falling into a trance long before they reappeared with strays on which laid a scattering of mugs, looking like two disappointed kids who were late for party for they were not told by anyone else. 

Thomas had the least idea how he got back to the dormitory and the next morning, when he woke up to the rustle as Mats tidied his bed and got himself gussied up for Potions lesson which was due in ten minutes, he felt like hell. His whole body went limp and feeble, and his head throbbed with dizziness. It was an impossible mission to muster up enough strength to even prop himself up, let alone to drag himself all the way down to the dungeon.

‘How much alcohol have I downed yesterday?’ asked Thomas dreamily, yanking the velvet hangings open and gazing out through the chink to see a blurry figure busying himself sorting through his trunk for parchment and quills.

‘Quite a lot, actually.’ said Mats absentmindedly through clenched teeth as he had his hands full with rummaging through the contents of the trunk, and blew a whistle of triumph when he managed to pull a bag of parchment out from under a heap of crumpled clothes. He dusted himself off before plopping down on Thomas’ bed while smoothing the scrolls out and continued, still in a nonchalant air, ‘You downed so much alcohol that even the renowned tight-fisted Aberforth was delighted to honour you with a VIP title. He will give you a 1% discount on everything served in Hogs’ Head.’

‘Oh, Merlin.’

‘And you probably covered Hog’s Head’s half of the year’s revenue.’

‘Brilliant.’ Thomas snorted. As he watched Mats pack all those stuff into his backpack, slowly yet clearly, the words slipped his lips in a hushed whisper, ‘I may have to skip the class.’

‘Yeah, I can see that, not in shape for the torment of Potions. It’ll crush you into pieces.’

Thomas shook his head in dismay, ‘Gerland gotta kill me.’

‘Sure he will. But don’t worry, I’ll deal with Gerland.’

With that dreamy look registering on his face, it was all too clear that Thomas paid least attention to what Mats was saying and was instead, muttering to himself, in a feeble, misty voice, ‘Still, better than forcing me to confront Manuel face-to-face.’

Mats put the work at hand to an abrupt halt, ‘You can’t be! After a drinking bout and you are still trembling at the thought of telling him the truth. Are you truly a Slytherin?’ He snapped.

‘No. I’m a spy from Gryffindor.’ Thomas sniffed in a fit of pique.

‘Come on, be an asshole and tell him you accidentally transfigured him into a female cat and all your stupid decisions resulted in this mess and that in all likelihood he had to bear that stupid scar for the rest of his life. Just tell him! Is it really that hard? I even help you write your lines and all you have to do is recite and then repeat them!’

‘I would love to be an asshole in any case,’ returned Thomas promptly, ‘But…’ he murmured, voice strangled as though there was a lump in his throat, ‘But it’s Manuel, and I can’t be an asshole to him, and I can’t lie to him either.’

As Thomas voice faded away, there was a significant look flickering across Mats face when he gazed into Thomas’ bleakly-illuminated eyes, which shrouded in the shadow and looked as if dissolved into it from a distance as he laid inert, vacantly staring at the ceiling. ‘Leave it to me.’ said Mats flatly, ‘I’ll take him here after class and then you can sort everything out.’

‘No, no.’ Thomas squeaked, looking aghast, ‘You can’t take him here. This place looks as if it were hit by the hurricane. He won’t come near me ever again once he sees me living in a stray dog’s den.’

Mats rolled his eyes, ‘Then come directly to the dungeon after class. I’ll hold him up.’

‘Do we really have to settle everything today? Can’t we wait for another week?’ He said in a pleading voice, moaning, and rubbing the temple as the smell of liquor wafting around him aroused a sudden rush of nausea swept over him, ‘I don’t feel like going anywhere but my bed. My head is killing me.’

Mats quickly hurled a chunky Potions book down on Thomas’ bed and said, ‘Turn to page 394 and make yourself a cure potion.’

‘And poison myself as though the headache alone is not enough to make me suffer?’

‘Well, as you know, most of the self-made potions would only cause a blast and if your head blows up, you won’t have a headache anymore.’

‘That’s really comforting.’ said Thomas sarcastically, ‘And may I ask how do you plan to explain all this to Gerland?’

‘Simple. Just tell him you idiot drinking yourself into a stupor.’ Mats snorted.

‘And the headlines of tomorrow’s Daily Prophet read – STUDENT DRUNK, IN A BLUE FUNK; TEACHER GRUMPED, IN WITH A THUMP; DOWN HEAD CLUNKED – subtitled, _nightmarish murder at Hogwarts_ , _student_ _killed for not attending the class_.’

‘I thought you’d be happy to see this. Save you the lot of explaining the whole story to the Slytherin-loving boy. The secret will die along with you and be safely sealed ever after, rotting in six feet under where there was not a single ray of light. You don’t have to lie to him, and neither do you have to act as an asshole. Everything settled.’ He ended with a loud handclap. From the flattered expression on his face one could tell that Mats was quite impressed with himself. But Thomas was not impressed at all.

‘Funny.’ He tut with an offhand face, shooting his roommate a stern sideways glare before crawling back under the covers to get himself tightly wrapped up and pulling it over his head to shield himself from the light. ‘Could you please switch off the light?’ said him in a muffled voice, ‘I wanna take a nap.’

‘You have your wand.’ Mats drawled as he dragged himself to his feet and shouldered his backpack heavy with fat books. Nonetheless he extinguished the light with a simple twitch of wand before leaving for the Potions lesson, which, by then, was due in only one minute. Having been kissed by dark, feeling warm and protected, Thomas once again sank into a sweet, dreamless slumber.

He didn’t know for how long he drifted in the still darkness, but it certainly didn’t feel like two hours, more like a matter of seconds. Inhale and exhale – and then in the blink of an eye, Mats reappeared, babbling while brandishing something looking like a scroll of parchment.

‘… Gerland promised that he won’t kill you.’ His explosive voices jerked Thomas awake from drowsiness. Reluctantly, Thomas poked his head out of the covers to see Mats toss whatever he was holding up towards him, square on the face. It landed on the floor with a mild plunk. ‘And good news,’ he continued, ‘you didn’t fail the test. We both got an ‘A’.’

‘Thank Merlin.’ Thomas breathed a sigh of relief, too worn-out to even move a muscle to pick up his quiz paper.

‘The Gryffindor boy got an ‘E’.’ Mats added a moment later, with a disgruntled look as he pouted in displeasure, looking as though he were forced to swallow a can of nasty slimy slugs, ‘You gotta surpass him next time. And speaking of your ardent admirer,’ He paused, as Thomas suddenly sat bolt upright, ‘he was keen to know why you didn’t show up today.’

Thomas felt his stomach knot with feverish anticipation as he subconsciously gripped on the covers, ‘And what did you tell him?’

‘I told him you poisoned yourself with self-made potions.

‘Love Potion.’ He later added, striking a pose of nonchalance.

This remark was like a bolt of lightning hitting Thomas right on the head. For a split second he couldn’t hear anything but his own heavy breath.

‘You said… what?’ He stuttered, in a vain attempt to hold his poise, as he felt an invisible, shapeless hand tickling his heart and agitating his insides while he endeavoured to breathe the words out as clearly as he could.

‘I told him you poisoned yourself with a self-made, shoddy Love Potion.’

There was a pause of a heartbeat, all still in sheer silence, until a crack of thunder broke it, bringing a torrents and down splattered a shower of rain.

‘Why did you say that!’ Thomas shrieked hysterically, gaping at him, lips going pale with fright as he froze there flabbergasted. ‘Love Potion! Why does it have to be Love Potion?’

‘To tell him he better banishes the thought of courting you. And I thought you didn’t like him? ‘I’m not in love with him’ – you said it yourself.’ Mats hissed, ‘Anyway, he’s on his way here, clearly my words alone couldn’t dampen his spirits, needs something stronger. Probably an axe.’

‘Merlin’s beard.’ Thomas cursed under his breath, quickly getting out of the bed, as he hastily slipped into his crumpled robe. He rummaged through his trunk for a comb to deal with his nest-like hair, and after a failed search he had no option but to comb the hair with his own hands, which was of no use to smooth all those rigidly sticking-out strands. In the end he resigned himself to this shaggy look, darting a pathetic glance at the pale, haggard boy in the mirror. And then off he left, vanishing in a heartbeat as though he had been blown off by a gale.

The Slytherin common room was swarmed with chattering students. Thomas nudged through the crowds, which took him quite an effort as some first-years kept pestering him for telling them whether some of the stories they heard from the ghosts were true. Having broken away from them, exhausted and sweaty, he almost bumped right into the arms of someone who waited by the entrance as he fought his way through the stone wall – on second glance, Thomas felt his heart miss a beat – standing right in front of him was none other than Manuel Neuer.

‘I’m not brewing a Love Potion!’ He blurted out, so loudly and so abruptly that gave Manuel quite a start.

‘What are you talking about?’ Perplexed, Manuel let out a faint chuckle whilst quirking his eyebrow.

‘Mats told you I poisoned myself with self-made Love Potion, didn’t he?’ asked Thomas in urgent whispers, still panting heavily.

‘Um, I’m quite certain that’s definitely not what he said. He told me you were not feeling well so you had to skip the class. Are you any better?’

‘Oh, I’m… um, I’m alright now.’ Thomas stammered in a feeble voice, ‘Just headache, cause I, um…’ he stopped, trying to find a better excuse to explain how he got himself so ill that he had to skip Potions class. He didn’t want to tell him that it was all due to a hangover, cause that simply sounded stupid. So instead he mumbled, ‘cause I forgot to draw the hangings last night and you know it’s quite cold there, the chilling draught…’

_Okay, that sounds even more stupid._

Abashed as his whole face went flaming red, Thomas dropped his gaze and lowered his head so deeply that his chin rested on his chest. His voice faded away to nothing but a sniff and in a flurry of poundings he could hear nothing but yells and bellows from the distance, as he saw nothing but the lithe fabric of his black robe swaying in the breeze.

In the suffocating silence, out of suddenness, Thomas realized that Manuel’s gentle hands were on his waist, found their way up along the side and finally met in the front; he felt his heart almost jumped out of the ribcage as Manuel’s fingers brushed past his chest and was too tense to notice what he was actually doing.

‘And you run out in this.’ Manuel shook his head, allowing himself a thin smile. Only then was Thomas aware that Manuel was buttoning up his robe.

‘Um, thanks.’ He whispered in a small voice, stealing a glance at Manuel from under his eyelashes, not daring to look directly at him. Quite intriguingly, for the first time he observed rosy blushes in full bloom on Manuel’s plump cheeks as he breathed ‘don’t be’ with a bashful grin. As their gazes met each other, for a split second, at this untimely moment the memories about what happened in the library and the scar flushed over him. He felt like running away.

It seemed that somehow Manuel read his mind, as he slowly took a step back, speaking in a rather brisk manner, ‘I should leave now, since everything’s fine… Bet Lewy is searching the whole castle for me right now. He gotta turn the ground over if I’m late for the training.’ He grimaced, ‘And… take some rest. You still look pale, you know that?’

‘Guess I look like a zombie then?’ said Thomas jokingly, ‘Well, good luck for your next Quidditch match.’

They bid farewell, but barely had Manuel taken a few steps before he suddenly halted as something flashed through his mind and swivelled around to see Thomas remain where he was, fiddling with the buttons on his robe. He called out, from quite a distance, and continued when Thomas yanked his head up in his direction, ‘Why would you bother telling me you were not brewing a Love Potion?’

‘Cause I don’t want you to be mistakenly led to believe that my heart lies somewhere else.’ Thomas blurted.

‘Oh.’ Manuel blinked vacantly. With that blank face, he looked like a child who was slow on the uptake and it seemed as though time had gone still as he stood motionless for what felt like eternity, neither a word nor a move, until–

‘Oh!’ he screamed jovially, as if slowly rallying to a normal person with emotions after being confined in desolation for years. He trotted to Thomas in two strides, eyes widening, sparkling with fierce joy. He leaned forward, biting his lips nervously and tentatively ventured, voice shaking with a rush of euphoria, ‘May I?’

He panted, his breath as hot and heavy as the afternoon heat in summer. Whilst he gazed up at him, Thomas could see glitters of excitement dancing in his bright blue eyes as the big guy waited in a fever of expectation. Thomas nodded.

Shuddering, as he tried to stifle the urge to tango, Manuel pressed a fervent kiss on his lips, whilst spontaneously closing his eyes and he was stunned to realize that it seemed as though what he saw at the moment had been long etched in his memories, as the scenes, slowly but surely, overlapped with the fragments of a long blissful dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JK Rowling suggested that Crookshanks was actually the hybrid of a Kneazle and a cat and this explained why he was so bright and could see through Peter Pettigrew's little tricks. Whether Mrs. Norris was a hybrid or not was never mentioned but I personally believed that she might also be a 'half-blood Kneazle'. In the movies she was portrayed as a fluffy Ragdoll-like cat with blood-red eyes (you can see it clearly in The Goblet of Fire) and this was kinda peculiar for a cat. Though she was depicted as obnoxious and annoying, it didn't change the fact that she was bright as a button for she could always catch those who violated the rules. (just my random thoughts on Mrs. Norris)
> 
> fun fact: in chapter 1, when Manuel was transfigured into a cat, I used the word 'tabby' to describe the dark lines on his fur. And later when I wrote this chapter, after looking into the dictionary I realized that 'tabby' was another way to refer to a female cat so... kinda like a coincidence.(°ー°〃)
> 
> Basti the bartender was the same Basti at around 2007, at that time he was quite fascinated with messing around his hair.


	5. The Mission to Save the Dead Broke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to Basti for portraying him as a bad apprentice and a heartfelt one for branding him as 'a hazard to people's appetite.'（。・＿・。）ﾉ

‘I gotta say, this whole idea is very Mats-Hummels-ish.’ Manuel could hardly suppress a laugh after he’d heard about everything happened throughout the past week from Thomas, as they lied lazily in the shade of that huge beech tree in a breezy summer day, with their Potions books flipping open. It was quite early yet; the lawn was half empty of people, with only several Slytherin students sitting faraway from them, clustering together by the lake in huddles whilst tossing pebbles into the gilded waters and looking totally unconcerned, meaning that they could shoot the breeze and indulge themselves in hoarse laughter as much as they like without being worried that they might disturb someone who wished for a moment of peace to do his revision.

‘Took an awful lot of efforts, and money as well, all to prevent me from attending a Potions class–’ Thomas grumbled with a note of displeasure in his voice, ‘he better be grateful that Gerland hadn’t burst into our dormitory and just chopped my head off, in that case I would haunt him for the rest of his life.’ said him indignantly, as he flipped the book to the next page. Flicking a quick glimpse at the notes on the book, he prompted, quite airily, ‘Name the ingredients of the Draught of the Living Death.’

‘Powdered root of asphodel, an infusion of wormwood, valerian sprigs, sloth brain and Juice of a sopophorous Bean.’ said Manuel quickly as the words just flowed out of his mouth in a fluid motion. ‘But I’m still awed that his plan actually worked.’ He croaked, flipping through his Potions book swiftly in a rather absentminded manner and he hadn’t stopped until he realized that there wasn’t much left for him to flip, ‘That bartender – you sure he had nothing to do with this whole trick? It seemed to me that he was pretty fascinated with the trick of getting your plastered.’

‘Nah, he’s just a poor apprentice whose confidence has been knocked out for all the withering comments those grumpy boozers made. Benni confided to me that Schweini was quite frustrated that those drunks always heaped scorn on whatever he made. They sneered at him and clamoured that he better quit the idea of earning himself secure employment in Hog’s Head. But Aberforth didn’t give up on him. That day when we were there, constantly calling him on to place new orders–’ Thomas paused, as a warm blush suddenly suffused his cheeks, ‘He, um, took it as recognition of his work. Benni said that they intended to splash the news over the front page of the Daily Prophet with a picture featuring me and Schweini but you know I was already a bit of tipsy at that time…’

‘Tipsy?’ Manuel interrupted, with mirth in his eyes.

‘Fine, I admit it, I drank myself into total oblivion, thanks to Mats.’ Thomas pouted, ‘And that’s the reason why I couldn’t drag myself to the Potions class; not some stupid chilling draught at work, obviously.’

His voice slowly faded into a timid whisper as he suddenly felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment whilst he recalled the moment when he clumsily tried to find an excuse to explain why he had to skip the class and later blamed it on the cold draught whistling in the dormitory.

Manuel seemed to be very conscious of his unease; he gave Thomas’ hand a gentle tap and quite naturally, moving on to another subject, ‘So, how’s the beer served in Hog’s Head? Not so bad, I presume?’

Thomas grimaced at the mention of the beer served in Hog’s Head, ‘If you are referring to those made by Schweini, I gotta say there’s no difference between them and sewage. Honestly, I partly agree with those old drunks. Maybe Schweini was poorly placed to this job.’ He shook his head with a pathetic attempt to sigh, as there was a sudden change in his tone, ‘But maybe it was not at all hopeless.’ He added, all of a sudden appearing to be quite stimulated, ‘I remember there’s one called the Bewitched Sewage. Funny name though. Horrible-looking outwardly, very sewage-like and with a layer of ash at the bottom; but it actually tastes nice. You gotta try it once you’ve got the chance.’

‘Wait till our next trip to Hogsmeade.’ said Manuel briskly, making a mental note before he shifted his gaze to the Potions book, ‘What’s the use of Wolfsbane Potion?’

As the word ‘Wolfsbane Potion’ conjured up a small black-and-white illustration in the corner on page 113, showing a huddled werewolf sitting on the floor while half of his face was illuminated by a shaft of silver penetrating through the bars on a tiny window, he answered, ‘To allow werewolves to keep their minds at the full moon, after the transformation.’

‘Correct.’ Manuel cracked a grin, and turned to next page, while he quickly checked on the topics listed on a slip of parchment; he assumed there was every likelihood that those topics would be included in the finals.

With the dewy summer breeze caressing the skin and its soporific whispers weaving in and out of the rustling leaves, sprawling on the soft grass and flexing his legs comfortably as he considered the guy sitting beside him, rapt and suddenly awash with peaceful contentment, Thomas felt that everything he lusted for was here in this restful Saturday morning.

He wasn’t sure how to take in the current situation – whether he should consider it as a date or not since most of what they did these days, whenever they were alone on their own, was revise for the exams, as the finals drew near. It might appear to be too plain and monotonous to those who craved for party and alcohol but for him, even sitting in the quiet library for hours with only dull scribbling rustles would elate him, as long as Manuel was by his side.

 _Manuel._ The name bubbled to his thoughts, while he peered at its owner, with a reminiscent look as the streams of memories flowed back to his head convulsively. He couldn’t help being a bit of nostalgic when he thought of how clumsy and tremulous they had been while how things became much easier now. No wavering over words, no fidgeting around while evasively blinking and no need to keep a heartfelt confession at bay either; if he ever felt like to, Manuel would simply sent an owl and asked him out; provided they happened to run into each other in the passageway, with a simple flicker of hand or exchanging glances and Thomas knew what he got to do next – trotting in Manuel’s wake to somewhere quiet and cosy. There they talked and laughed and teasing each other flirtatiously like an old-married couple. Thomas found it quite amusing – they were not even an item but they already looked like an old-married couple. Should Mats hear about it, he’d laugh his head off.

He gazed at Manuel abstractedly, totally oblivious to what he said and only saw slight movements of his lips as he read a question. Manuel made a face when his question was not reciprocated, dragging Thomas out of mental pool by calling his name.

‘Oh, I was… distracted… by the whizzing sound, no, never mind,’ he pouted, ‘what’s your question again?’

Manuel shot him an appraising glance before looking down for the question, ‘Name at least two striking traits that could tell Amortentia from the others.’

Thomas pondered on it for seconds, ‘Mother-of-pearl lustre, steam spiralling up in wisps,’ he tapped his chin contemplatively while scrawling in the air with his slender finger, ‘with scents varying from person to person. People will smell whatever they are infatuated with.’

‘Correct.’ said Manuel with a contented smile, crossing Amortentia off from the scrap of parchment before moving on to the next Potion, ‘The next is Draught of Peace.’ He murmured, ‘I think it’s most likely that Gerland will demand us to write down all the known ingredients of the draught–’

‘Amortentia.’ said Thomas abruptly, ‘I know what it’s all about.’

A look of bewilderment ensued as Manuel lifted his eyebrow a fraction, ‘I’m positive about that. You just recited the descriptions about Amortentia exactly the way Libatius Borage had written in the book–’

‘No, that’s not what I meant.’ Thomas interrupted, ‘I was talking about the smell. I know why it is mint-flavoured.’

‘So why is it mint-flavoured?’ Manuel parroted, staring, waiting in eager anticipation.

Sweeping the fat Potions book aside, Thomas swiveled around to gaze at him, while gently stroking his dirty-blonde strands in an absentminded manner.

‘You tell me.’ said him briskly, cuddling up against Manuel as he allowed himself to be fully immersed in a thick beguiling fragrance produced by a mint-flavoured shampoo.

The clock was ticking faster as June brought the first wave of summer heat to Hogwarts – as if in the blink of an eye, all of a sudden the students found themselves confronted with all sorts of things. The most important among them should be the finals. There should be no objection apropos of that.

But for the players of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, there was another mission that was equally important. And that was winning the Quidditch Cup. After defeating Gryffindor and sweeping to victory against Hufflepuff, they matched Ravenclaw stride for stride on the scoreboard. Their chance of securing the Cup looked promising. Nonetheless, they could not afford to underestimate their opponent, for Ravenclaw was just as tough as a falcon hunger for prey and refused to die without fighting.

In the following days Mats crammed the trainings into their schedules which were already overflowed with revisions and exams. They trained strenuously for days on end and when the training was over, in most cases, Thomas felt too weary to walk as his legs were as heavy as lead.

Today the weather was terrible. It was overcast and the sky looked like a dingy, stained canvas, even so, Mats insisted hauling all his teammates out on the ground, arguing that they had to prepare to fly in all weathers. No sooner had they set foot on the pitch before it started to rain and soon got worse. The torrents were breaking on the robes and hidden up above the clouds were flashes of forked lightning, the bright glares cracking the sky and almost dazzling them. Thomas hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that he never had to fly in a thunderstorm ever again when a bolt of lightning only missed him by a whisker.

By the time Mats decided to call it quits, drenched like soaking rag and shivering with cold while the wet grass caressed his ankle, Thomas couldn’t be much happier when he finally felt the solid ground as he hobbled off the broomstick.

‘We have to be more organized.’ Mats shouted in the whistling wind when his teammates were all puffing and panting, ‘You might attribute it to the weather, but finding yourselves excuses is no use to us. We can’t rule out the possibility that the weather on Saturday will be as bad as today. Provided that there’s a thunderstorm that day, we have to be prepared for it. We can’t fly like a bunch of headless chicken on the pitch on Saturday. And Thomas–’ He rounded on his seeker, ‘extra training tomorrow. I thought you could have been faster when diving for that plummeting Golden Snitch.’

Thomas heaved a sigh, nonetheless he silently agreed with a nod. With one last scrutinizing look, Mats dismissed the team, urging his teammates to get back to the dressing room to get rid of the sodden robes as soon as possible. Slowly and wearily, the Slytherin players slouched back, with Thomas brought up the rear, stooped and a bit of wobbly.

Behind him came a thin voice, swaying in the fierce thunderstorm and too faint to tell what it was until the voice broke through the thick curtain of rain, followed by the crisp tramp of feet treading on puddles. Seconds later Manuel showed himself from behind the pelting rain. Thomas found it hard to suppress a self-mocking chuckle as it baffled him why he failed to recognize Manuel at the first sound of his voice, considering that the answer couldn’t be more conspicuous.

For days Manuel was always there, sitting quietly on the stand, watching Thomas perform and pretending that there was nothing peculiar having a speckle of dull red in the back when flashes of emerald took over the sky. At first Mats wasn’t so fond of the idea of allowing a Gryffindor in the pitch, for he feared that Manuel might be a spy and he suspected that the reason he was here was to divulge their tactics to their opponent. But he caved in at last.

It got Thomas carried away to know Manuel was down there, watching him fly. He knew his eyes followed him soaring high above the clouds or plunging down for a brilliant dive like grease lightning and he knew wherever he was, Manuel’s eyes were always fixed on him. That was part of why he was more enthusiastic about the training these days. He didn’t expect that Manuel would come today, due to the terrible weather but now here he was, sweaty and beaming, with a dazzling grin that he was so infatuated with.

‘Sorry I’m late–’ He joined Thomas in two strides, gasping for air as his cheeks went fiery red after a gallop at full speed, ‘take a detour down there–’ still panting heavily, he fumbled a can of butterbeer out of pocket and held it out to Thomas.

‘Where did you get this?’ asked Thomas, standing beneath a transparent umbrella conjured from the tip of Manuel’s wand while gazing open-mouthed at the bubbles swirling up in the amber liquid, transfixed but utterly joyous to have a can of hot frothing beer to warm his hands.

‘The Three Broomsticks, obviously.’

‘You found the right passage out this time?’

‘Yeah. I owe my thanks to Lewy, actually.’ said Manuel briskly as they strolled back at a leisurely pace, ‘He joined a club called _The Marauder’s Lap_. Whoever is in the club will be confided of all those secret passages in the castle. But only those with perfect muscular thighs will be admitted to the club.’

Thomas almost choked on a gulp of butterbeer when he tried to stifle a laugh, ‘Don’t tell me you also applied for _The Marauder’s Lap_.’

‘I did. But they told me I should apply for The Marauder’s Butt.’ said Manuel with a disgruntled face. There was a beat of silence, and the next second, Manuel was astounded to find out that Thomas laughed so hard that he doubled over with a hoarse guffaw, ‘Eh, why so funny?’

‘Clearly I’m not the only one who loves joking about that, am I?’ Thomas blinked mischievously, patting his butt. Manuel rolled his eyes.

‘Everyone’s obsessed with my butt, obviously, including Mrs. Norris.’ Manuel grumbled. Thomas lowered his head a trifle at the mention of Mrs. Norris as his cheeks blushed with guilt, ‘What?’ asked Manuel, while stroking his sodden hair with affection, ‘Are you still – is it because of what happened that night in the library?’

Thomas tut-tutted with an undertone of approval and in the same breath shook his head in a somewhat disapproving manner, ‘Dunno what I’m thinking about.’ He muttered, sliding a furtive glance at Manuel, as discreetly as he had been that day when he confided everything to Manuel. He remembered, when he finally made up his mind to come clean with Manuel, he was well prepared for everything, from a reproving sigh to a good dressing-down, but he never expected that Manuel only laughed when he learned that Thomas accidently transfigured him into a female cat. He was totally taken aback by this unexpected reaction, and repeated his words again to make sure that Manuel didn’t get it wrong.

‘You are not mad with me?’ asked Thomas at last, in a timid voice as he stared at a giggling Manuel, with eyes widened, ‘This is… mad. You are supposed to at least give me a reprimand. You should be ticked off. It was my fault that left you a scar on the butt.’

‘Why should I? It’s just a scar.’ said Manuel with a brisk air, waving it off as calmly as he was every time he took all those nuisances in his stride. He made it clear that he decided to let nature take its course and was quite optimistic that maybe one day the scar would fade away itself but Thomas insisted that the sooner they went to Dr. Wohlfahrt to rid it off, the better. Nonetheless it was too risky – Madam Pince went crazy over the mess in the library and was determined to dig out whoever was behind it. Rumours were that she even had a go at interrogating the books stored in the Restricted Section. Thomas was sure that they would be expelled should she find out they were the culprits and therefore, a visit at Dr. Wohlfahrt had to be cancelled.

All the time Thomas had this idea that maybe Manuel was too soft with him, especially when he was so used to be bawled out and given detentions for all those disorderly behaviours (in the normal course, causing blasts in a disused restroom when he and Mats experimented on potions) after years of being a notorious scamp at Hogwarts. He rarely saw Manuel get cross with anyone and whenever Manuel was with him, he’d always wear that familiar hearty smile – the smile which always saved him from the toe-curling situations whenever he made a spectacle of himself.

Never before had he had such experiences. Although he gradually learned to behave himself ever since he was appointed as the prefect, he still saw himself as a Slytherin-badass at heart and was always ready to get a severe rap over the knuckles for everything he did, right or wrong. Every night before sleep, he would count his blessings thinking what a day it was for not being rebuked or scoffed at despite all the follies he did. Being a joker by nature, he was so accustomed to be treated as a real funny guy and a hopeless retard at the same time, but now Manuel made him aware that he was more than a mixture of a joker and a retard.

 _He could be harsher, like everyone else._

‘Hey, just forget about it.’ Manuel’s soft whisper drifted into his head, ‘feels like you are the one who bear a scar, not me.’

Shrugging off the thoughts, Thomas nodded, and dipped the lips into the frothing liquids for another large swig.

‘Here, I’ll take the broom.’ said Manuel promptly, taking the battered old Nimbus Two Thousand from Thomas’ grip.

While squinting a glance at the old broomstick, slowly but hesitantly, Thomas opened his mouth, with a somewhat suspicious look and a funny foam beard, ‘I think there’s something wrong with the propulsion.’ He muttered, eyebrows furrowed deeply, ‘When I dived for the Snitch it somehow throttled back. Strange.’

‘Maybe it’s the broomtail.’ After giving the broom a quick scrutiny Manuel hazarded a guess, ‘See those twigs? All scattered. But the likelihood is that it’ll turn back to normal if it’s given a proper clip. I can borrow a Tail-Twig Clipper from Robert; maybe we can fix it ourselves.’

‘That’d be nice.’ said Thomas airily, gulping the butterbeer down to the last drop, which rendered his voice a bit hoarser and shakier, ‘Mats arranged an extra training for me. Clearly my performance wasn’t convincing.’ He breathed a sigh, ‘Hope the weather will improve tomorrow. As for the broom–’

‘You can borrow mine.’ Manuel chimed in, ‘You can fly on my broom on Saturday if the worst comes to the worst. Now that our match against Hufflepuff is over, I don’t think it’ll violate the rules if you borrow a competitor’s broom.’

‘I think I better use my own broom on tomorrow’s training, you know, to test it and see whether I should borrow another one or just make do with my own and – ouch!’ He exclaimed, chilled to the bone as he walked right into a puddle, ‘Merlin’s Beard! Is the drainage system always that bad? Feels like I can swim in it.’

‘You can’t expect the drainage system to function normally in such a cloudburst.’ Manuel grumbled, in a vain attempt to wring out his sodden robe as they trampled on the puddles while the muddy iron-grey waters splashed all over their trousers, ‘Man, I don’t know how they are supposed to arrange a Quidditch match if the weather continues. I’m all soaking wet inside out.’

‘They can change it into a swimming race,’ murmured Thomas. While he stared dreamily at the bottom of the cup held in hands, a sudden thought flashed through his mind and sotto voce but quite determinedly, he ventured, ‘You will still come to see the match on Saturday right? I mean, despite the weather…’

‘I’ll come.’ returned Manuel in his usual firm voice.

‘Oh, that’s great,’ Thomas let out a breath of relief which he wasn’t aware that he had been holding, ‘really, great. But it’s totally fine if you prefer to stay in the warm, comfy common room–’ he added, suddenly alighting on something, ‘I’m not asking you to come – not a demand, no; it’s just a–’ he stammered, cheeks flaming red, ‘I just want to know–’

‘Thomas,’ Manuel interrupted, ‘I’ll come to see the match.’

‘Oh, then it is.’ All of a sudden the gloom was swept off as he crowed in a childish manner, face aglow with radiance, ‘I’ll tell them to leave a VIP seat for you.’

‘VIP seat? You mean flying with you?’

‘Shut up.’ said Thomas in coy whispers, faking a tone of reproach but outwardly he was clearly in a buoyant mood. ‘Oh well, we better hurry, or Mats’ gonna fume at us.’

Briskly as they trotted across the lawn to the castle, they were completely unaware that, up above their heads the thick clouds gathered and swelled, bearing down on the pitch and in their midst lurked flashes of lightning accompanying the rumble of thunder, moaning in the distance and obscured by the crisp spattering of rain as they treaded joyously on the puddles, laughing, shouting shrilly like those who, living in the desert, one day woke up to a sweet downpour, cheering for the magic of nature.

It showed no sign that the weather would clear up the following days as it rained on end. Hence Thomas gave up on the thought of expecting a break in the cloud on Saturday when Friday saw an even fiercer thunderstorm, but deep down he still held a glimmer of hope that the match might be rearranged, should the weather become even worse.

The training didn’t go as they expected, or more precisely, as Thomas expected. His Nimbus Two Thousand functioned well in the succession of trainings but even so, he flied a lousy flight. He missed a ball which he was supposed to catch like a hot knife through butter and lost a racing practice. Mats finally lost his poise after he missed the ball the second time and barely had the other players filed out of the dressing room before he flared up at him.

‘What the hell are you doing up there? It’s the second time you missed that ball!’ He bellowed, the veins hidden beneath his dark skin bulging so intensely that Thomas felt he could see the blood racing in it.

‘The final got me on edge, that’s it.’

‘But the point is, you can’t let it get to you.’ said Mats in an urgent tone, ‘We are about to play tomorrow and don’t you think how grotesque it is to fuss about the trivia when there’s only one day left for us to prepare?’

Thomas stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, ‘So you are not nervous? Not a bit at all?’

‘For the love of Merlin! Can it be possible to stay utterly composed in the face of such a game?’ Mats screeched, ‘I splashed myself soaking wet, from head to toe, when I tried to drink from my jug yesterday, you know that? My hands just kept trembling frantically.’

Thomas blinked with a blank face, ‘Oh, but it appeared to me that you are pretty calm.’

‘Or what do you expect from me? Crying? Cuddling up together, we Slytherin little whiners, shuddering with tension and crying our hearts out?’ Mats pursed his lips with a somewhat deprecating look, ‘And to remind you, I’m the captain of this team. I can’t raise the white flag when my men are still out there fighting.’

‘That’s quite a pep talk.’ Thomas chuckled with a touch of appreciative amazement as they were now slowly walking back to the castle in the drizzly mist, ‘Really. I’m moved.’

‘Well, just some words from the heart.’ said Mats with a straight face, giving his chest a thump to carry conviction, ‘And for me it’s a must to win this game.’

‘I know, to defend the pride of Slytherin. First time to see the hope of winning the trophy after years of leaving the pitch empty-handed, after all.’

‘Um, no. But it’s a good point, I gotta say.’ Mats mumbled, suddenly his cheeks going crimson out of embarrassment, ‘But, no. The thing is, Benni and I put a bet on this game. We took bets on which house would win the cup and my money was on Slytherin. If we lose the game, I have to give him 10 Galleons but as you know, I already spent all I’ve had the last time we went to Hogsmeade, so…’

Thomas rolled his eyes, ‘And who’s to blame for that?’

‘Me.’ Mats answered frankly, ‘But seriously, you gotta ponder what it is that motivates you to win this game. Tell me, why do you want to win this game?’

‘To bring the cup back to Slytherin, obviously.’

‘No, no, I mean, apart from that. Clearly everyone competing in this game strives to bring the Quidditch cup back to their house. But that’s not enough. You need an extra push to make you stand out from other players, to give you extra motivation. For me it’s not dying in abject poverty and what it is in your case? You gotta think about it; it’ll help. And – oh, the Gryffindor swine is here extracting our secret tactics again.’ He spluttered with a trace of displeasure the instant he saw the tall and heavily-built blonde boy trotting into sight.

‘Hey!’ Manuel pelted down the lawn to them and screeched to a halt just in time with a cry of joy, ‘Professor Sinistra got me for a while. To discuss the study plan of astronomy for the next semester cause – well, never mind.’ He waved, and dug his hand inside the bulging pocket, taking out two bottles of butterbeer, ‘I bought these from Robert. He was selling Butterbeer in the common room, setting up a stall up there. Anyway, take yours, Thomas. And this one is saved for you.’

He gave another bottle to Mats. The latter darted a suspicious look at him.

‘For free?’

Manuel laughed, ‘My treat.’

Having been given the promise, Mats took a cautious swig and the second the hot, sour-sweet liquid touched his tongue, he shuddered with a rush of euphoria. Manuel could hardly suppress a giggle when he saw Mats’ eyes suddenly went bright with sparkles shining rapturously.

‘Despite you politely offering me the butterbeer,’ Mats cleared his throat, ‘still, I’m not gonna give you advice on how to endear yourself to my friend.’ The next second his voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper as he craned his neck so that his mouth was level with Manuel’s ear, ‘Easy peasy, just take your clothes off.’

Manuel chose to ignore him and instead swivelled around to Thomas, ‘So, how’s the training going?’

With a slurp from the foaming beer, Thomas only breathed out some incoherent words; nonetheless, Manuel managed to grasp some of them from his slurred mumbles and what he heard was ‘like shit’.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘The truth might be too harsh for you but you gotta take it one way or the other.’ said Mats in an arrogant drawl, ‘Oh fine, I’ll keep my mouth shut.’ He mumbled hastily when he met Thomas’ scowl and pretended an interest in the bubbles spiralling up in the beer, only letting out some muffled snorts to show his attitude towards their remarks when he felt need to.

‘You feel like telling me what’s going on there?’ Manuel asked tentatively, squinting a glance at Thomas, who, after a thoughtful pause, decided that he might as well be frank with Manuel.

‘I’m nervous.’

‘Oh, I see. I can relate to that. First time to compete in the final. It’s quite normal to be jittery.’ Manuel murmured in a soothing voice as he subconsciously threw his arm over Thomas’ shoulder and caressing the back of his neck in an intimate manner, ‘I remember the moment when I’ve walked into the pitch on the day of the final – same pitch, but the feeling is different.’

‘Hey Griffin, I want you to answer me a question,’ Mats barged in, ‘be honest, what was the first thing that came to your mind after you won the Quidditch cup? Not bringing-glory-to-my-house that kind of gibberish, but something personal, something that appears to be selfish to others but totally reasonable from your own standpoint. You get it?’

Manuel scratched his nape in an attitude of contemplation and slowly, his plump cheeks were suffused with a faint blush as he hesitantly opened his mouth, ‘Eh, it’s a bit of stupid, I gotta say. I thought I might impress you with that look–’ his intent gaze fell on Thomas, ‘cause, you know, you don’t normally see those biceps, unless I’m holding something giant and bulky and intentionally showing them off… I thought you’d be impressed. Seeing me mobbed by crowds, the golden cup high above my head, muscular, proud, shining in a blaze of victory; I thought that would make quite a spectacle.’

‘I don’t recall any of this.’ Thomas muttered with a vacant look, his voice timid and appearing to be a trifle apologetic, ‘Do you remember where we were then?’ He turned to Mats for an answer, but the big head guy only shrugged.

‘Off blasting the restrooms, I guess. But more likely to be shrouded in the gloom of defeat – a gloom so dark that not a single ray of glitter of victory could penetrate through. Crying and mourning for the loss of the precious Quidditch cup while thee heartless Gryffindors rejoiced and brandished what was rightfully ours–’

‘Hey, we won it in a fair fight.’ Manuel retorted.

‘You won it only because you had better broomsticks, Firebolt 8.2-1 versus Firebolt 8.2-2. You were granted with an upper hand before this game even started–’

‘Yeah, he had a point–’ Thomas echoed.

‘Alright, cut it there.’ Manuel heaved a sigh in hope of avoiding further argument, ‘Back to business. Thomas, if you ever have doubts as to how to keep cool in the final, just breathe, three times in a row. There’ll be a moment when everything comes to a still, the voices, the moves, even the currents. When you smell it, then it’s time.’

Thomas nodded and in answer to his response, Manuel gave his sweaty hand a gentle squeeze before continuing, ‘And I can tell it from my own experiences that if you want to gain the upper hand in such games, you gotta outthink your opponents. Take them by surprise like you did last time you played against me.’

‘You talk it like it’s a breeze. But it really isn’t.’

‘Well, only time will tell.’ murmured Manuel in a comforting tone.

Slowly and wobbly they reached the entrance of the castle, and up they scrambled a flight of stairs to the cobbled platform from where their paths forked. Before continuing to clamber up the stairs to get back to the Gryffindor Tower, Manuel quickly leaned down to Thomas to whisper in his ears.

‘Remember to breathe, okay? But no need to panic if you find it not packing a punch. I’ve got some more tricks up my sleeve.’ said Manuel swiftly under his breath as a mischievous smile curved his lips, ‘Just take a look at the back of the Gryffindor stand tomorrow before Madam Hooch blew the whistle.’

‘What are you up to?’ Thomas cocked his eyebrows. However, Manuel only answered him with a wink before he vanished into the shadow lingering at the end of the stairs in a heartbeat.

For the better part of the night Thomas persisted with his thinking on what Manuel meant by saying that, chewing on his words over and over again and as he relived that scene, he was astounded to find that he could almost feel Manuel’s breath rustling against his neck when that picture reappeared in his head in freeze frame, though in a more intimate, flirtatious manner. For a split second his cheeks went burning hot and as if out of an act of instinct, he pulled the cover up in an unnecessary fuss to hide his flaming red face, as he was now lying on the bed with all the hangings safely drawn. No one could see him, and neither could anyone see through him.

Out of the thick hangings he heard Mats pacing to and fro in the room. The tension out there was so thick that Thomas could tell it by the way his bare feet trudging and brushing against the carpeted floor. All of a sudden he was stung by twinges of guilt when he thought of how everyone on the team was fidgeting over the oncoming match while he, in contrast, was fangirling on a certain Gryffindor and filling his head with useless rubbish. _How ironic. Just in the afternoon I was rattling on how anxious I was and now I shake it off as if none of this is my business. Mats would be so pissed if he were telepathic and could read my minds._

He inhaled a deep breath and decided to drop the thoughts on Manuel to focus back on what was the most urgent, however, the instant Manuel quitted his head, the unpleasant mixture of worry and fear took over it. The weight of anxiety almost crushed the breath from him; he could scarcely think or move like he normally did. It was not until the name ‘Manuel’ came back that he felt rescued, taking several deep breaths before everything went back to normal.

Naturally, Thomas was amazed by the power of this name, but he was not astounded – calm and secure, that was what he felt when he was by Manuel’s side. And this meant one thing: if Manuel’s tricks all failed, at least he had his own card up his sleeve, an efficient way to get himself cool and collected – to think and to imagine, Manuel, flying along with him. With an imaginary Manuel by his side he was blessed with a sound sleep, even if out there the air was thick with noises, with the torrential rain splattering on the lake, mingled with the rumble of thunder, so loud and disturbing that the whole castle stayed awake shivering in the wind all night.

Thomas woke up at the break of dawn the next day to find out that the sky was almost as dark as night, while the inky waters broke on the window, looking grim and ominous. _Not the day for Quidditch,_ thought Thomas gloomily. Nonetheless, he dressed up quickly, tripped off to the great hall with his Nimbus Two Thousand in hand, and helped himself to a quick meal before joining in his teammates marching down to the Quidditch pitch.

Inside the dressing room was an air of suppressed anxiety. Under the dim, flashing light, while listening to the mizzling sound outside, for minutes no one dared to talk, and instead they just polished their own brooms in brooding silence. Sitting motionless and contemplatively in the corner while clinging his broomstick to his chest, Thomas glanced around those faces wearing different expressions, trying to see through his teammates and for several times his eyes met Mats’, which were deep and unreadable.

‘Look, I know it’s the big time for all of us.’ After what seemed to be eternity Mats finally opened his mouth, by the time the students already flooded into the pitch. The sound of their chirping and laughing as they walked past the dressing room was like the screech of an alarm clock that woke up everyone in this room. They put the work at hand to a halt and jerked their heads in the direction of their captain, listening and waiting in anticipation.

‘First time into the final after all those years of nothing,’ Mats continued, ‘we all know what this game meant–’

His rough voice slowly faded away as Thomas, at that moment, felt a rush of panic swept over him when he realized that for most of the players on this team this was their sixth year at Hogwarts and if they couldn’t seize the opportunity to win the cup this time, then that’s it. Who knew if they could still fight their way into the final next season like they did this year? People would leave and the team would never be the same. Time waited for no one and it would plainly not show its mercy to a bunch of young-lads who shared six years of wriggling in the mud together.

Mats ended his speech with a terse cough and that was when Thomas’ thoughts finally came to a grinding halt in his wake. One by one the players trod quietly out of the dressing room while Mats and Thomas brought up the rear. The moment they stepped outside they felt the chilling scrape against their skin as the rain pelted down. Up above their head a huge swirl of thundercloud was looming and flashes of lightning lurked within the thick layers of cloud which reminded Thomas of those sharp yellowish reptilian eyes of dragons. He had a strong foreboding that a cloudburst was bearing down and so did Mats; The Slytherin Captain’s face stiffened with profound unease and the way his lips moved gave people the impression that he was trying to grind the words.

‘Listen, you gotta keep absolutely focused. One millisecond of being distracted and we will be doomed. The Ravenclaws want to get this over with as much and quickly as we hope and surely they won’t let a good chance slip. So, be on your alert. And that means, if that seeker out there suddenly dived or rocketed up, don’t hesitate to make your move.’

‘I know that. Anything else?’

‘Oh, nothing. Since Griffin has done all my work...’

The rest of the remark was dissolved into a loud chortle from Thomas.

The heavy thunderstorm had no power extinguishing the enthusiasm and the expectation for a Quidditch game and the pitch had still been deluged with students from different houses until at around 9 o’clock, the stands were filled with various colours. On Thomas’ right sat the Slytherin students, of all the years, huddling together in the torrents while their faces took on a greyish hue of nervousness, nonetheless they carried themselves well. The Slytherin Quidditch players beamed at them, waving and brandishing their broomsticks with such a flourish that the sea of silver and green burst into a wave of vehement, cheering howls.

In the ear-splitting roar, after a quick, hasty wave to his fellow Slytherin friends, Thomas swivelled around, out of curiosity, to see what it was that awaited him on the Gryffindor stand. What he saw was blurred by the curtain of rain; the normally dazzling mixture of red and gold became dark shades of lifeless maroon and it therefore became difficult to see. Squinting into the back of the stand, nevertheless, as though by a telepathic connection between them, he managed to make out a speck of green rocking up and down among the clusters of hooded heads. In the wake of this new discovery came a sudden uproar from the back row of the Gryffindor stand, as the fireworks set off by Manuel, instead of flying high into the sky as they were supposed to be, drifted only centimetres overhead and crackled into sparks with an almighty explosive crack.

‘That dork.’ Thomas chuckled, looking at that plumes of heavy smoke twisting into words which were plainly unreadable owing to operational failure.

Right then Mats joined in with him looking out to see what it was that made his friend so fascinated. It didn’t take him long to work out an answer when he noticed the commotion at the back of the Gryffindor stand.

‘That’s where Griffin is sitting, isn’t it?’ he drawled in a mock jeering manner, ‘Quite a mess there.’

‘Oh, don’t be so harsh with him.’ Thomas snorted.

The weather showed no sign of improving as the rain started hammering against the ground, even so, it couldn’t drown out the shouts from the crowds in frenzy as each one of them tried to make himself heard in the midst of chanting against his rival house. Madam Hooch urged the players to mount their brooms so that the match could commence as quick as possible. The deafening cries, the howl of winds and the weak chatter, all sorts of voices mingled into one grand symphony and that was, in the normal course of things, a moment when his pulse rate peaked.

But today, strangely, while he stood there, facing the Gryffindor stand, for a split second he felt a clunk in his chest as though a rock finally touched the solid ground when he was all focused, eyes fixing on one but nothing – it seemed that at last Manuel decided to give up on those grandiose fireworks after several failed attempts; now he was standing in the middle of the back row, etched against a wave of red, which was partly due to his height and partly because of the green scarf wrapped around his neck. All at once the almighty roar died down, the wind was reduced to a whisper and the splash of rain was nothing but a timid breath. Everything was now in slow motion, but instead of seeing, he felt, and he was pretty certain that Manuel’s gaze was on nowhere but him and somehow he was almost 100% convinced that the big guy’s sweaty fingers must be interlaced in an attitude of prayer as if he had seen it with his own eyes.

_Still, I won’t be there applauding for Gryffindor if I were in your case._

Everything slowed to livid stillness, shrouded in mist, nonetheless Manuel’s face was clear as a bell, not in his eyes, but his head. It was like every training day – knowing that someone was down there waiting for him as he glided past the stand. The rows of wooden chair all twisted into chocolate-brown streaks in a high-speed swoop, the vision blurred, but somehow he always managed to find that little black spot from great distance like he did in a real Quidditch game. He thought of how every time Manuel scurried past rows of seats and down to him on those training days and how it became what he had most expected after a long exhausting training session. And thinking of this made him feel like there was a balloon letting loose, as his head was suddenly off those nasty haunting thoughts.

‘Hey cap,’ Thomas called to Mats, who was ready to be off the ground at a moment’s notice, ‘about that question you asked me yesterday, just to tell you I’ve got an answer.’

‘The answer is to save me from the bog of heavy debt, isn’t it?’ Mats shouted back.

‘Yeah, I guess you can put it this way.’

The words had barely escaped his lips before Madam Hooch placed the whistle into her mouth and blew it with all her might. In the blink of an eye all fourteen players soared up into the sky like an arrow whizzed off from its bow, ditching all those cheers and hoots behind their backs. The Ravenclaw chaser wrestled the ball out of pairs of arms and shot out without a second of delay, zigzagging through fierce cloudburst and players as well, up to the goalpost and made her first attempt, which, had Mats not kicked it out with his mighty hand, would have been a brilliant goal.

While the other twelve players were all tangled up in the fierce fight for Quaffle, quite freely himself, Thomas swooshed to and fro in the pitch, staring vigilantly at the Ravenclaw seeker from out of the corner of his eye as he searched for the trace of that naughty fluttering snitch. It streaked away the moment it was set free, leaving its shadow behind and for now, already ten minutes into the game, it still remained hidden behind the thick, smoky curtain of rain like a shy boy.

The rain kept pouring down in torrents and presently, the pitch was flooded. Looking down, Thomas couldn’t cease to think how right he was about the poor drainage system as the thin trickles cascaded down his hair and made his fringe all stuck to his forehead.

‘That’s why I hate flying in the downpour.’ He grumbled under his breath, smoothing the hair away swiftly and had his hand back on the wet stick hastily before he performed a neat swerve to avoid an oncoming Bludger. As if in agreement with his opinion, the broomstick sent out a slight, unnoticeable quiver.

The commentator announced that Ravenclaw had a narrow lead by a score of 50-40 followed by a goal from their most striking chaser, but it soon came to a draw as the Slytherin chaser threw the Quaffle right through the middle goalpost from around 30 yards away. Exhilarated, the Slytherin students shouted themselves hoarse, jumping and stamping so hard that the whole pitch quaked; Thomas could even see ripples on the surface of the pond below. The emotion was contagious, and Thomas felt the urge to get down and celebrate with them as the hot enthusiasm rippled through him with the roar of ecstasy drumming, the very sound which brought extra spit and vinegar to everyone on the pitch by tearing the dull, repeating splashing apart.

Nonetheless, Thomas didn’t forget what he was told to do, keeping a weather eye on the Ravenclaw seeker who was now patrolling the other end of the pitch to keep a discreet distance away from him. There were several times when he was ready to dive when seeing his opponent make a sudden move in the mid-air but in the end it turned out to be a false alarm as the guy was only attempting to avoid a pelting Bludger. So far the situation between the two seekers appeared to be quite peaceful, as both were holed up behind the dense rain pelting down in torrents, taking up a small patch of sky, waiting and observing their opponents’ every move like those nocturnal predators hiding in the dark. Though it was only a matter of time as when would either of them decided to strike and thus breaking the brittle balance.

Thomas wasn’t certain whether it was merely an illusion or not, but in its torpor it felt as though time had slowed down. The rain eased off and was only a drizzle by this time. Patrolling around, Thomas wondered when would the Golden Snitch finally show itself as he glided past the back row of the stadium to the highest point of a beacon for a better view over the pitch, and that was when a sudden bolt of lightning attacked. Stunned and unprepared as he was, somehow he noticed something small fluttering in the distance when the whole sky was dazzlingly lit, though by mere chance and only a fleeting glance. It dissolved into darkness the instant the light faded.

It could be anything, a drifting feather, or a lost bird, most likely, or even his own illusion. It might be or in all probability, it could be another false alarm, but either way, there was no time to waver. He gotta put his bet on one or another–

And he chose to strike, spurting forward like greased lightning. The Slytherins burst into a ripple of cheers. In their deafening bellow of joviality and thrill Thomas reached to the other end of the pitch in no more than three seconds; he screeched to a halt in mid-air, looking around for any sign of the Snitch. But all he saw was vast, steely grey, water-like sky. He froze up there, bewildered, feeling like a fool and at a loss of what to do, until a sudden roar woke him up.

‘Behind you!’ Mats ranted from beside the goalpost. Thomas turned around, and saw it with a quick glance over his shoulder – the Golden Snitch was down there fluttering in the centre of the pitch, skimming over the waters like a dragonfly.

The Ravenclaw seeker saw it too. But Thomas was faster, with a sharp swerve he managed to steer the course in the right direction and dived ahead of his opponent who was at the other end of the pitch and had yet to take off, which gave him a lead of approximately some milliseconds. The Slytherins bubbled over the performance of their seeker as they were now all standing up, heads bobbing on the green waves, bouncing up and down and shrieking at the top of their voices while the Ravenclaws sitting on the opposite side were doing exactly the same. Among the relatively composed Gryffindors, Manuel was alien to them, as he cheered in rhythm with the green waves. Sitting beside him was his roommate and the captain of Gryffindor Quidditch team, Robert Lewandowski, who had his face buried in his hands and made a pretence of having nothing to do with the guy brandishing a Slytherin scarf on the Gryffindor stand.

Students squeaking, rain splattering and out in the distance the rumble of thunder continued, while gusty wind pounded against Thomas’ eardrums. It was like having a thousand different voices shrieking in chorus at him, trying to distract him. However, at this moment whoever planned to distract him could go back with his tail between his legs as now his eyes were all on the Snitch, and all he could hear was his own fluttering heart.

A rampaging Bludger suddenly swooshed into his sight out of nowhere when he was off guard, shooting aslant at him from down below like a cannonball. He narrowly missed it, putting on a spurt of speed just in time to escape the collision, but as for his old Nimbus Two Thousand it was a different story. The Bludger hit the tail savagely. Thomas heard some crisp crack which sounded like someone was treading on the wilted leaves and at around the same time the broom throttled back automatically, as though the bump gave it dizziness and therefore it had to take a break.

‘Not again.’ Thomas groaned.

Now the Ravenclaw seeker was noticeably closer to the Snitch. For Ravenclaws it seemed that victory was ripe for picking as it was only a matter of time before their seeker caught the Snitch. They were all jumping to their feet, some even scrambling on the seats, ready for that moment when the whistle was blown. What contrasted with the restrained hysteria on this side was the deathly quiet domed over the Slytherin stand, with only one or two student still letting out some feeble yell.

‘Come on, push!’ hissed Thomas in urgent whispers while his Nimbus Two Thousand wobbly darted forward, looking like a drunk veteran, ‘You are Nimbus Two Thousand! Not a Porsche. This is not enough. Come on, gimme all you’ve got.’

But the broom only sent out a shudder.

‘You are asking for a retirement without pension, you know that? You pesky little matchstick.’ Thomas threatened in undertones, ‘If you keep acting like this you are bound to see the rest of your life all wasted on chores like sweeping the floor and rat-holes. I’m not kidding this time.’

However he tried, it appeared that his Nimbus Two Thousand had made its mind that it would rather spend the rest of its life being a dust-sweeper than give itself a little extra spurt to charge forward. Exasperated as he at last shut his mouth in a huff, looking up, he saw the Ravenclaw seeker bearing down on the Snitch scurrying around in the air.

Horror-stricken, for a split second Thomas felt there were loads of thoughts flashed across his head even though none of them actually left an impression. He dreaded to think what would happen if they were pipped to the post. He glanced around in a flurry and all of a sudden light dawned on him when he saw his own reflection skidding across the waves. Admittedly, even he himself was astounded by the brutal madness of this idea but between a loser and a loony, he’d choose the latter.

‘You really left me no choice here.’ Thomas huffed, frowning at the slightly quivering broom. Eyes off, while staring resolutely at his opponent coming head-on in this direction, he swallowed, gripping harder on the broomstick and then carefully, he manoeuvred the Nimbus Two Thousand a trifle off its setting course and flattened himself against the broom, let it carry him to where he wanted to be.

‘I’m telling you, Slytherin’s done for.’ said Robert briskly. Whistling lightly, he wavered gently to the beat of the chants, clearly getting a real buzz out of the foreseeable loss of their old enemies. Manuel, however, was not so delighted; his face darkened, his lips drained of colour and so was the emerald-and-silver striped scarf, now drooped on his shoulders like a dead snake.

‘They ain’t got a chance.’ Robert added, with a gloating look, ‘I can’t wait to see the expression on Mats Hummels’ face when they’ve blown it the fifth time, just think about it…’

‘Shut up.’ spluttered Manuel impatiently before he hastened to raise the binoculars for a clearer view of everything happening on the pitch. Just then the Ravenclaw seeker made his first attempt to catch the Snitch. The Ravenclaws were on the brink of letting out a howl of triumph but unfortunately, and fortunately enough for Thomas, the Snitch managed to slip through his fingers and their cheers died in the throats.

There was still a noticeable margin between Thomas and his target, which was now running amok in the wake of that failed catch, making it hard for him to aim. He repeatedly made adjustments to the course while darting quick glances at down below continuously. He could hardly breathe as the strong currents kept slapping him on the face, and staying focused and clear-headed was not a breeze in this case, even so, he nerved himself to remain calm and collected, head empty off thoughts and eyes fixed on one but nothing – it was right in front of him, rippling in the mist of scattered showers.

It was all very quiet, until a screech shattered this eerie tranquillity a second later. ‘They will collide!’ Thomas heard someone squeaking as he swooshed past the front row of the stand, dashing straight to the Ravenclaw seeker, who was still in hot pursuit of that tricky little ball and ready for the second strike. His fingers protruded behind the Snitch like a spreading fishing net after its prey and this time, it fell into his pocket and all he had to do was seal it and draw it back.

But he didn’t. Alert to the sudden changes in the currents brought by the whistling gale, the Ravenclaw seeker looked up to see a blurry shadowy figure coming at him with a startling velocity, stunned and distracted, he seemed to totally forget what he should have done. The Snitch once again made good its escape, but it had hardly covered any distance before another hand burst into sight out of nowhere, as Thomas leapt off the broom after it. He flung himself at the ball with all his might and right in the midst of an entanglement of hands and after a flurry of so much hauling and pushing, he managed to scoop the ball up in the nick of time before hitting the waters with a loud splash.

For a fleeting second it seemed that he was not in the middle of a Quidditch game but trapped in a broken radio where all was buzzing and droning, as he was lying there, face down and almost completely submerged in the icy, muddy waters, and his head was buzzing with thoughts. The first thing that came to his mind was that his arms and legs were all there, remaining whole and sound and right in where they should be, a bit of numb though, owing to the impact brought by the fall, yet still functional, when he felt a sudden surge of chill from the tip of the fingers. _Thankfully the waters broke the fall,_ thought Thomas, slowly propping himself up with the Golden Snitch firmly secured in his fist, _and it actually didn’t hurt that much._

He stared vacantly at the ripples, thinking how strange it must have been, sitting motionless in the knee-deep waters, shuddering with face all covered in mud after a hard landing. Gazing up at the back row of the Gryffindor stand, where dwelled a ruck of students who were now completely speechless with shock, he wondered what Manuel would think about this whole idea. _This is beyond crazy, I gotta say, you really gave me a start up there,_ shrilled a small voice in his head, mimicking Manuel’s tone of speech, _but it’s indeed brilliant._

Thomas chuckled at this thought, wiped his face clean off slimy dirt and breathed, heavily yet steadily, and exhaled, waiting patiently for the last bit of air to be pumped out of the chest, as though bringing a rest to a passage composed of ascending arpeggios. He felt a salty breeze ruffling against his skin, out of the corner of the eye he saw his teammates landing around him one by one, all wearing a glowing smile of radiance. Strangely they looked so faraway, and seemed to be unfit for this scene – it felt like a cook unwisely chose to add some fancifully bright-coloured icing to a dully-flavoured stew to spice it up. His head was still buzzing, and so was that little thing in his fist, squirming and somersaulting like a fly trapped in cage. Looking down, after a beat of pause, at long last Thomas realized what it meant for them – victory. What he also realized was that those buzzing voices were not his illusion; those were from the Slytherin students, who were shouting themselves hoarse, whooping for the triumph.

The Slytherin Quidditch players came pelting down at him, pulling him to his feet and clustering him around in a seething mass of arms and chanting his name with such dignity that made Thomas blush. In a mere second his cheeks were wet with sloppy kisses.

‘Hit the jackpot, didn't you?’ Thomas whispered in Mats’ ear when the two of them somehow found themselves nose to nose in the centre of a howling mob of crowds.

‘Bet Benni’s not delighted over this.’ Mats grimaced. No sooner had his voice faded away than a dark-faced, imperious-looking Benedikt strode pompously into sight, clustered around and almost deluged by an ecstatic mob of Slytherins, ‘Oh, there he is. Merlin’s most effective hair tonic, guess I’ve got a hell load of work to cheer him up.’ said Mats flatly before he hastily trotted off.

It took Thomas some efforts to break free from the entanglement of arms. He stumbled through the puddles, in the direction where the students all came flooding in. Here and there Thomas could see Slytherins gathered in twos and threes, hugging and laughing with tears of joy.

While staggering across the waterlogged pitch he was greeted with immense affection and kindness as people held out their hands with beaming smiles, which he had rarely seen before. Flattered and overwhelmed with pride, for a flashing moment he really felt like submerging himself into the seething crowds, to fully immerse himself into the ripples of triumphant howls and to be kissed by the blaze of glory. But deep down he knew it clearly that this was not what he came for. The reason why he hauled himself all along here was standing a few strides away, waiting in eager anticipation, twiddling with a strand of hair that disobediently stuck out while spots of rain ceaselessly teased him, but nonetheless fondly smiling. Barely able to breathe smoothly as he shuddered with excitement, Thomas broke into a trot to cover the remaining distance between them and threw himself into Manuel’s outstretched arms.

‘You see that swerve up there?’ shouted an elated Thomas, clinging to Manuel like a dangling pendant, ‘When I tried to avoid that Bludger? That’s quite a sharp arc! Maybe the sharpest.’ He paused for a breath, ‘You may miss it, but it’s alright. No one can keep focused for two hours without a lapse of concentration, not even in the Transfiguration class–’

Babbles came flowing out of his mouth like a train racing full steam ahead, until Manuel chipped in, ‘If my memory didn’t fail me, that was only seconds before one of your chasers equalized it and made it to 50-50, that one, right?’ Seeing Thomas bug-eyed in astonishment, he added, ‘No way would I miss any of this. My eyes have never left you for a second after the whistle was blown.’ said him briskly, waving a shining pair of binoculars in his hand.

Even with huge beads of rain bringing chill to him, Thomas could tell that his cheeks were flaming hot. He hastened to lower his head as his eyes roved elsewhere, but Manuel tactfully made the pretence of not seeing this and changed the subject.

‘Honestly, it really gave me a bundle of nerves, seeing you leap off. That was over three storeys high. You might break your arms or legs to say the least.’

‘But luckily I didn’t, did I? Mind you, I did an accurate calculation before I took that leap to prevent such minor injuries, like concussion or tragically breaking my neck, most likely.’ said Thomas airily, ‘And you can’t deny that was exactly what you called _an element of surprise._ ’

Manuel darted a stern look at him, ‘You did give me a jolt up there. And if I didn’t get it wrong, it was your broomstick again. Am I right? You should just take mine instead. That Bludger – when it hit the broom, it must do some damage to the propulsion. Thinking if you just listened to me in the first place… ’ muttered him in a somewhat gently chiding voice. But soon his features softened as a broad grin curved his lips, ‘Yet, the match would be much duller. And I gotta admit it, what you did up there, it was purely brilliant.’

‘Just as I presumed.’ mumbled Thomas under his breath, barely able to suppress a mild giggle, which was reciprocated with a quizzical glance from Manuel.

After retrieving the Nimbus Two Thousand, which was found lying on the grass verge of the pitch some yards away from where Thomas had left it up in mid-air, Manuel slowly walked him back to the dressing room. On the way back there people wearing silver-and-emerald striped scarves came in flocks to congratulate him on the victory.

‘They arranged it at twelve,’ said a substitute player on the Slytherin Quidditch team to Thomas about their celebration feast, on seeing him entering the dressing room along with Manuel, ‘in the common room. Food and drinks will be served, and pastry also, brought right into the common room by those house-elves. And they even invited a band, to liven things up, you know. Don't know how they managed it but that’s what they said.’ He paused to check his watch, ‘Anyway, I gotta go. Geez, what are they thinking? Can’t we just borrow a voice-magnified megaphone and spread the words out to the whole pitch? Doing it in a Muggle way… _you have to notify everyone in person._ They must be mental.’ Grumbled him in an indignant air, and off he went, stomping away in heavy footsteps, leaving the room for the two of them.

In the quiet, damp and dimly-lit room, for a long time there were only short breath and crisp rustles, as Thomas walked around to pick up the scattered Quidditch equipment strewn across the floor and carefully put them all into the case, turning his back to Manuel, who was standing by the doorway in silence, waiting, with a look of observation. For several times he squinted quick glances at the entrance of the castle, where was crammed with Slytherin students, chirping and squeaking like a murder of crows. One of them held a tray of butterbeer, and some of them carried a flag with Slytherin emblem, standing in line. Clearly they were waiting for someone. The mystery was unravelled when a group of fancifully-dressed outlandish people appeared on the stone steps to the entrance hall, as the guy bringing up the rear wheeled a trolley on which piled a bass, a drum and a guitar.

Manuel turned his gaze back and that was when Thomas finished his work with a crisp click as he locked the case. And before he was about to utter, Manuel opened his mouth first, ‘You want me to bring anything to the party?’

‘What?’

‘Anything you like, as long as I could find it in Hogsmeade. I could always smuggle them in, with a little help from The Marauder’s Lap.’ said him briskly, ‘So, anything you want? Butterbeer, Honey Duke’s chocolate, or Fizzing Whizbees… just name it.’

Thomas lapsed into a contemplative silence, ‘The Bewitched Sewage. The one I’ve once mentioned before, remember? I kinda miss the taste, honestly.’ He shuddered with euphoria in a dramatic fashion as he relived its taste, ‘I’d like to have a few. And don’t forget to buy yourself some. Worth a try.’

‘On it.’

‘Tell them it’s me.’ Thomas added, ‘Aberforth will give you a discount, not much though, still better than nothing.’

‘Okay…’ murmured Manuel, an implicit hint of bemusement flickering across his face. Nonetheless he allowed himself a radiant smile of promise, gave a gentle squeeze on Thomas shoulder before galloping down to the castle.

Although being the hero who was decisive to this hard-earned victory, Thomas only stayed ten minutes in the very heart of the whirlpool of cheers before he stumbled out of the common room, freeing himself from the rattling music and unnecessary spiel as well as the overly-enthusiastic first-years in hordes, who kept pestering him for all the details up there, which he really had nothing much to share.

Crouching against the vibrating stone wall, he didn’t wait too long before the distinct tramp of feet burst into his dreamy mind. At the end of the dark corridor a tall, strangely-shaped shadow loomed over him. As it approached nearer, Thomas realized that its strangeness was partly owing to the huge carton full of bottles which dangerously hung from Manuel’s trembling arms.

‘Merlin’s beard,’ Thomas exclaimed, boggling at those bottles tinkling and ramming into each other, ‘I asked you to bring some beer back, not to buy the whole pub.’

‘It’s a bit of complicated to explain.’ Manuel forced the words out through gritted teeth, plopping the carton down with a solid thud that echoed within the whole passageway, ‘I went to Hog’s Head, and told them I want some Bewitched Sewage, three or four would do. Until then everything was perfectly normal. But then things went wild once I had mentioned your name. That bartender, the one with bleached-golden hair, Schweini – is this what you call him? Anyway, he went mad with exhilaration, and his eyes were fiery with glitters–’

He paused for a second and swallowed several times as though this was too much for him to gulp down in one mouthful, ‘I’m not exaggerating, really. He ran to the back of the pub, bustling around and all I heard was something tinkling. And then he and Aberforth reappeared with this carton and all these… whatever, Aberforth said these were all they could find in the pub. He said these would be given to you for free as a little gratitude for what you’d done that day in Hog’s Head. Clearly your… um, infatuation for The Bewitched Sewage really bolstered up Schweini’s confidence. Now he starts to make something called The Bewitched Bath Water of the Giant Squid. And he’d like you to be the first one to have a try on this.’

Thomas froze on the spot, gaping, ‘That’s not what I’ve expected.’

‘Yeah, me neither.’ Manuel heaved a sigh, ‘And now what? Just camping here?’ He cast an appraising look around the dark corridor, ‘And why aren’t you in the common room with the others?’ 

‘Never actually been a fan of punk.’ Thomas made a face before he produced his wand and tapped it on the stone wall for it to swing open, ‘Come, let’s go back to my room. Keep your head down a bit; they won’t be happy to see a Gryffindor roaming around here…’

On the way upstairs they bumped into several Slytherin students who had yet to express their rapture and thus seizing the opportunity for a wholehearted appreciation, to get the words out and to let the emotion flow. One of them insisted him taking a self-made badge bearing his face in animated portray and the other one thrust a box of cakes in his arms. All of them seemed to take no notice of Manuel.

‘I ought to regularly blast a restroom to remind them what I really am.’ said Thomas in a hushed voice as he gingerly darted a glance at the back of the last Slytherin in line, who just hopped downstairs, to make sure he was out of earshot.

‘You can invite Schweini as your special counsellor next time.’ Manuel joked.

‘And you can be our special operative. You’ll be required to scout for a place to do our blasting-experiments beforehand… Well, unless you don't want to get involved.’

‘No, no, count me in.’ Manuel giggled.

Having been out beaten by wind and splashing rain for hours, Thomas almost forgot what it was like to be back in dormitory where the bewitched good blaze would ceaselessly dance in the hearth, to feel warm and dry. Though it was comparatively colder here, given that the Slytherin common room was deep under the lake. Nonetheless the cosy warmth was enough for him to erase the weary and ease the nerves, and no so strained and uncomfortable as he previously had felt in the common room. He slipped out of the cloak which joined in a muddle of clothes on the carpeted floor and closed the door behind Manuel. Standing by the doorframe, he swivelled around, inhaling a deep breath as he took in the whole broodingly-green-shaded, moderately-lit scene.

‘I think I just saw that giant squid drifting past,’ muttered Manuel while he busied himself checking the names of each bottle of beer with a long list in his hand, ‘Have you ever suspected it to be an Animagus? To oversee the students, in case they get themselves involved into something illegal.’

Thomas settled himself comfortably down on a small cushion next to Manuel, ‘Illegal?’

‘Firewhiskey.’ He took out a bottle brimming over with dazzlingly flaming red liquids, at the bottom of which squirted a shower of sparks every now and then, and shook it by way of explanation, ‘This one is mead, and this is, um, a gin and tonic, according to the list.’ He mumbled with incredulity, as he pulled out a bottle containing nasty livid-purple liquor, which was still bubbling with thick foams. He dropped it on the floor as rapidly as he could, as though immensely in fear that it would burn a hole in his hands. A look of empathy registered on Thomas face.

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘Better if I don’t even need to.’ Manuel grimaced, and proceeded to check the things in the carton. ‘These are The Bewitched Sewage,’ he allocated a corner for the batch of clinking bottles, ‘And this… The Bewitched Happy Tears of Trolls, The Bewitched Mucus of Flobberworm, The Bewitched Ashes of the Long-Dead Basilisk Mixed with Tonic… Merlin’s beard, are these even drinkable? And – ha! Finally, something decent.’ Manuel crowed, brandishing what appeared to Thomas to be a bright yellow streak of blur, ‘Butterbeer!’

‘Um, I suggest you better not pin all your hope on this–’ Thomas hastened to say, but it seemed that Manuel was too exhilarated and fulfilled to pay attention to what he was saying.

‘You know what this reminds me of?’ said Manuel in a high-spirited mood, paused for effect, to create an air of mystery and also for Thomas to ponder on the answer, as he yanked open the cork in one puff, ‘The Three Broomsticks! I looked at the bubbles and… and I thought it's just like then.’

 _He was right._ Gazing silently at those translucent rising bubbles in all its brilliance, he couldn’t help reminiscing about that unexpected encounter in the corridor, about how they strolled in the bustling street in Hogsmeade on a breezy snowy day and, well, how he messed things up. Manuel was right; the way the bubbles diffused the grim light and spiralled up to the surface was just like then; but he was not all correct. The Manuel in his head was not the same as he had been before as time dragged by and the once densely-suffused unfamiliarity and tentativeness were no longer there and apart from everything else, the way he felt about him was radically different and consequently, what he craved for was now different.

 _Besides, the weather is different. It’s much warmer now,_ thought Thomas at this point, for some inexplicable reasons.

Unbeknownst to Manuel, who was presently poring over the liquid frothing ferociously in the bottle, Thomas stealthily peered at him from under his eyelashes, as he pulled himself a bit upright before he ventured, quite recklessly even by his standard, ‘I would say yes if you ask me this time.’

‘The froth here is really – what?’ Manuel stopped dead when the last few words drifted into his ears, though most of them were obscured by his own loud thoughts. Nonetheless he could read them in Thomas’ eyes that this was not something to joke with. He lowered the bottle, taking in a deep breath and waiting in a fever as his body was rigid with tense.

Thomas swallowed hesitantly; it was not that easy to let the words out when they were staring right into each other. Embarrassed while face burning hot, he was on the verge of telling Manuel it was nothing to fuss but somehow he didn’t want to let it go. He wanted an affirmative answer from Manuel. Not that it was needed. In most cases it was more like a strictly-followed rule. Without those words, however fascinating a relationship seemed to be, in the end it was nothing but a drifting kite, or flowers in the mirror, lovely and free but impossible to reach. It was like a promise, a reassurance. Admittedly, he wasn’t that kind of guys who would fuss over triviality or act like a dramatic old square, but that didn't mean he didn’t wish for a promise. Sometimes he just inexplicably, and inevitably went with the flow, the impulse of which was so hard to thwart that he could do nothing about it either. 

So he kept his voice as naturally-steady as he could when he repeated the words, trying not to sound that intentionally, as though what prompted this unexpected question was a casual thought, not an emotional need. And he could well see it in Manuel’s thoughtful eyes that it worked as was expected. Manuel licked his bottom lips several times before he tentatively asked, ‘You are willing to date me?’

Thomas nodded. And before Manuel could react, he slowly crept forward like a snake slithering through grass and caught him by surprise with a bold kiss.

Just then the door burst open. At the deafening reverberation of the door they simultaneously jerked apart, as if they had been electrocuted. In a flurry of panic Manuel lost the centre of gravity, stumbled over Thomas and ended up getting tangled with his outstretched limbs. Head up, when his eyes caught a glimpse of a funny outline which described a rim of messy, straw-like hair, he realized that what stood on the threshold, blocking the flashing light outside was none other than Mats Hummels. In his fathomless, dark eyes, a flash of perplexity guttered whilst he froze there, goggling at the tangle of mess on the floor.

‘What in the name of Merlin are you doing over there?’

‘Breathing.’ Thomas shrilled, his voice unnaturally high and with a noticeable touch of tremor. 

‘Like you can’t do it all by yourself.’ Mats snorted sardonically, ‘And what are those for?’ He gestured at the glass bottles strewn across the carpeted floor from here to there, ‘To get yourself tipsy enough so that you could do something more exciting than breathing?’

Thomas rolled his eyes, ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’ He darted an incredulous glance at Mats, who was rummaging through drawers for things he clearly had no idea of what they looked like.

‘A westerly wind, probably.’ Mats tutted impatiently, ‘I’m trying to make amends to Benni for, well, the whole mess. He gave me the money and as compensations I brought him here. I naively thought that this concert would more or less cheer him up but it turned out to only add fuel to the fire. Cause, well, some of the lyrics were not very kind, but you know that’s our way of taunting our opponents and he was clearly infuriated. And now our relationship is collapsing.’ At length he gathered speed at searching as he spoke faster and faster, and he made no pretence of hiding his nervousness but let it flow freely in his voice, ‘No, no, and no.’ After a fruitless search he slammed the drawer shut with a whack and started pacing around in the room, when his eyes suddenly fell on the box lay open by Thomas’ side, in which contained six cakes rich of cream, all elaborately decorated with the emblem of Slytherin.

‘What’s this?’ He lunged forward with one big stride, ‘Hey, this could do!’ He fished an exquisitely-packaged cake out of the box and was about to leap off to the doorway with his newly-discovered booty when Thomas suddenly called behind him.

‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea to bring a cake with the emblem of Slytherin right under his nose. You would put your already-collapsing, vulnerable relationship in jeopardy.’

Mats mulled it over for a thoughtful moment before nodding his approval, ‘Indeed. But I can’t go back empty-handed either.’

‘What about taking this with you?’ Thomas suggested tentatively, showing him the batch of bottles standing in legion in the corner of the carton.

‘What’s this?’ Mats suddenly looked alerted, his eyebrows quirking in suspicion.

‘What else could it be? It’s The Bewitched Sewage! Schweini’s piece-of-art.’

The suspicion was written off Mats’ face and gave way to a grimace of horror mixed with disgust, ‘You know that – er, well, never mind.’ He slurred, while he slowly shuffled backwards, one at a time, as though he was in a furtive attempt to step away from a lion which was busy guzzling on its food, ‘I might as well just, um, go back to the old ways like, breathing. Yeah, breathing.’ He averred, ‘Anyway, thanks for the inspiration. And… have fun with your breathing!’

He then broke into a sprint and rushed out of the room like an arrow shot forwards in record time, leaving Thomas sitting transfixed, mouth open, totally rooted to the spot.

‘It scared him off!’ He shrieked a moment later, when he finally regained his power of speech, ‘I don’t believe it. It can’t be that bad…’ He looked to the bottle in his firm grasp, in which dwelled layers of livid, thick foams. Granted, outwardly it looked pretty much like a town reduced to wreckage after bombardment. ‘I mean, it indeed looks horrible, but it’s unfair to judge its taste by how it looks, right? Schweini definitely got talents, I can guarantee you that. It’s just, well, his talents are not well recognized by many of us. I literally feel sad for him–’

His remark was cut off in midstream with a silvery clatter, as he cracked open the bottle, and without any hesitation he took a large gulp of the porridge-like liquid, but instead of just swallowing it down in a smooth motion, it seemed that he somehow jammed. Eyes bulged and cheeks puffed out, he looked like one of those in comics with his lanky arms flailing wildly which, in Manuel eyes, looked as if he was performing a pantomime, playing a drowning guy, to be more precise.

‘Are you looking for something?’ asked Manuel when he saw Thomas groping around with his right hand while tightly covering his mouth with the other.

Thomas only gestured ambiguously with a bitter snort. At long last he fumbled an empty fish tank out in the midst of creased clothes before he fully buried his face into it with his nose pressing firmly against its rim, and spat out everything in one spurt. What followed were a fierce fit of cough and a feeling of dizziness. That nasty stench was wafting around, like a haunting ghost, which he could still taste with every fibre of his being and he could hear the scream of his every cell on the tongue.

‘I’ll take that back.’ He groaned, pushing the fish tank as faraway as he could while gasping for some fresh air, ‘Schweini is a hazard to people's appetite.’

Taken aback, Manuel immediately put what he had been holding for minutes back to the carton on witnessing this, despite its tempting facade and his strong desire for a good drinking bout on butterbeer.

‘Thank Merlin it’s not my face this time.’ He murmured in an undertone at length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add another chapter cause otherwise it would be too long (yes Thomas is chatty but I'm even worse than him in this regard), and the last few passages were somewhat unrelated to the previous stories like an unmatched tail so they were saved till the next update. Anyway the ending is still in progress and hopefully I can bring this to a perfect close.( ˘•ω•˘ )


	6. The inventor of the most ingenious offensive Quidditch feint one has ever seen ever since the invention of Ferrero Rocher

In the ripple of chirp and chortle, and the brisk clink and clunk coming from the knives and forks, a grand feast brought this semester to a close. The grand hall was clothed in green, following the announcement that Slytherin won the house cup this year. Though for the fellow Slytherins this was not the only thing in this hall that made them swell with pride – at the end of the Slytherin table stood the Quidditch cup, glazed with gold, shining and haughty-looking, on the sleek surface of which mirrored the beaming faces of the Slytherin students. 

Amidst the jovial crowds Thomas was probably the most prominent. One could easily recognize his grating voice even from a distance, which, to some of them, sounded like a squeaking crow, and his hoarse laughter accentuated this impression. When others were busy helping themselves to treacle tarts and pumpkin pies he seemed to feel responsible to entertain his fellow friends in the middle of a feast, with his jokes and some anecdotes he had once heard from Peeves the Poltergeist. Some of them didn’t bother hiding the indifference by way of not batting an eyelid and at last, the jokes were only reciprocated with Mats’ simple and monotonous response, mostly a ‘huh’ or an ‘hmm’.

As he paused for a break, Thomas’ eyes roved around the hall and ended up on Manuel, whose penetrating and eager eyes were fixed on none other than him. When their gazes met, Manuel’s once deeply-lined forehead, which was plagued by broodingly contemplation, smoothed as the frown gave way to a consoling smile. Thomas saw his lips move slightly. He was mouthing at him, but it was impossible to tell what he was trying to deliver.

After several failed attempts Manuel decided to change his tactics. The conversation was off in midstream as he lowered his head and shifted his gazes onto something on the table, scribbling swiftly while Thomas observed in bewilderment, before he carefully folded it in half. With a wisp of wand it took off, described a beautiful arc in the air, which went unnoticed by almost everyone else, who occupied themselves devouring the puddings, and flew right under Thomas’ nose. He hastily unfolded it, which read:

_Any other stories saved for me?_

Looking up, Thomas’ eyes, brimming with astonishment, found those mischievous one. The way Manuel winked and put his right hand by his ear brought him a flow of warmth which had nothing to do with this warm summer night.

After five courses or so the students were quite full and before long they were inclined to drowsiness, and one by one they filed out of the hall, went into their separate ways, which for fellow Slytherins meant going deep down to the dungeon – that was where their common room was located. Thomas shambled into the room in Mats’ wake, with a sealed scroll of parchment loosely clutched in his hand and a slip of paper on which bore Manuel’s scrawls properly tucked in his pocket.

‘Not bad. I’ve got 5 ‘E’. And an ‘O’ for Arithmancy.’ Mats uttered quite light-heartedly the moment he saw his exam results, which were written in dark green ink on a parchment bearing the emblem of Hogwarts, ‘An ‘A’ for Potions. But seriously, who cares about that? Got full marks in a final exam or have once blasted 100 restrooms, clearly the latter is way cooler if written on a CV.’

‘They’d only call the police if you chose to act cool.’ said Thomas flatly.

‘Whatever.’ Mats snorted, tossing his report card away, which ended up on the heap of creased clothes on the floor. ‘How are you doing in the finals?’ he turned to Thomas abruptly.

‘Not bad either.’

‘Well then, let me have a look.’ He yanked the scroll out of Thomas’ grasp, taking no heed of his snort of complaint as he skimmed through the words, ‘huh, you did pretty well in the finals, didn’t you? You’ve got an ‘E’ for Potions, nicely done. Outstanding results for Charms and Defence against the Dark Arts and – wait, no way, McGonagall gave you an ‘O’ on Transfiguration.’

Thomas heaved a sigh, ‘For the final task she asked me to transfigure a badger into a cat, which you know, I’m so well experienced in things like this that I felt like cheating. Not only did I sail through it, but I gave her more than what she demanded. I gave her a plump tabby cat, with sleek orange fur and a long fluffy tail whooshing like a brush. Very proud, very imperiously-looking, a grumpy one, and it’s a her.’

Mats blinked blankly while slowly put the scroll down, ‘So you gave her a replica of Meownuel.’

‘You could say so.’ Thomas made a face.

The bell chimed midnight at twelve o’clock sharp, when almost half of the school had long sunken into sweet slumbers whereas Thomas, lying in the cocoon of quiet and stillness behind the thick velvet hangings while staring at the pitch black, stayed wide awake. The merpeople’s hush, tuneful whispers were enough to deprive him of the drowsiness, let alone his own exploding thoughts.

He couldn’t help being a bit over-sentimental as this semester came to a close, and in the mean time his life at Hogwarts was a step closer to the end. His sixth year of living with these blokes didn’t seem to change that much – it was still centred around classes, homework and Quidditch, and he was still as quirky and boisterous like a squeaky crow bobbing up and down on the branches as he had been throughout the past five years.

Besides, he was still as good at making asses of himself as ever.

Nonetheless there were some changes, just like there were undercurrents deep beneath every still surface. Manuel was the undercurrent, he brought unexpected turbulence to the flows that had long been expected to drift in a setting course. Vigour, and element of surprise, but mostly a feeling of being treasured and being understood, to know that someone would laugh with him instead of laughing at him and truly be delighted by his being delighted. At this very thought a blissful wave of contentment rippled in his heaving chest and slowly diffused to his every limb. The sheet was cold to touch for he could feel his every inch of skin blazing hot with the intensity of feelings, and the undercurrents lurking beneath the waters of serenity in his head.

 _Mom and dad would be floored to see that I survived another year at Hogwarts without losing an arm or being expelled,_ he mocked silently at himself. And he considered, if they had ever asked ‘how’s your sixth year at Hogwarts’, he would still reply with a ‘Perfect’, only this time, with a genuine, eye-crinkling smile.

Slowly the tiredness overcame him and soon he fell into sleep in mermaids’ crooning. Down he plunged into a dream, where there was everything – the wafting fragrance of fresh mint and dewy grass, the dusty, mouldy smell of the long baronial corridor deep hidden in the heart of the Hogwarts castle and the chilling breeze reeked of fish. He felt not in a dream but standing right in front of a huge, magic telescreen which sucked him into various of scenes. For a moment he was there with his teammates lifting the trophy while mobbed by a knot of shouting Slytherin students, the next second he was teleported to elsewhere, when he was yet to fully enjoy the euphoria of being idolized.

After a long and enjoyable time of threading through different scenes to relive different memories, at last he came to a grinding halt. Up before him was a swirl of silver waves, like what he had once seen in the Pensieve. Without a second of hesitation he walked through it. He felt the ground slightly quivering under his feet. Looking down, he found himself treading on a maroon carpet while out in the distance, a shrieking siren almost deafened him as the ground vibrated even more fiercely and the moment he heard the whistle, he knew it immediately where he was. Inside the Hogwarts Express was a commotion, voices of different tones and timbres shaking the train as it steadily trundled on the railway track to the north.

He heard someone chirping at his side. Two voices arrived him from behind the door of the compartment next to him, both very young and immature. Amazed, while a trifle intrigued, he stepped closer to the door and pressed his face against the glass, trying to see through the mist within the compartment. However there seemed to be no one sitting inside, only the voices, shapeless and dreamlike, drifting freely like a kite without the string pulling its tail.

‘Why are you weeping like a leaky faucet?’ His 11-year-old self asked with brimming curiosity.

His question was not reciprocated. There was a long beat of silence. He started to grow impatient in the face of seemingly-endless suffocating stillness whilst he waited in a fever of anticipation. Keen to know the answers, he considered breaking into the compartment, wrestling with the brass handle but to no avail. It refused to succumb, remaining stock-still however he tried. Utterly irritated, Thomas cursed under his breath and was about to leave for elsewhere when his high-pitched chirping voice sounded on the other side.

‘Don’t be upset. I can assure you that life at Hogwarts is anything but dull and dry. It’s not like that of in Muggle schools, where you are taught something like math and literature. At Hogwarts we learn all sorts of cool stuff, the coolest of the coolest. What is taught in Muggle class is surely no match for things like Transfiguration and Potions. There will be homework, of course, but you can’t expect everything to be perfect–’

‘I know what Hogwarts is like.’ At last it was no longer a monodrama as another familiar voice joined the conversation, though it wasn’t as deep and gentle as it was nowadays. It was slightly muffled, feeble and lack of breath due to a ceaseless weep, ‘It has nothing to do with Hogwarts. It’s – It’s the Quidditch League Cup. We were so close this time. Only four inches away from the Golden Snitch. I was right on the stand and I saw it with my own eyes. Only four inches! Just throw himself out for the Snitch and the title will be ours. But they blew it! Now I have to stand those pesky little blighters sashaying around under my nose with the nasty badge of _The Over-Crowded Infirmary_. They are everywhere and I have no option but to grin and bear it. Over the past twenty minutes I’ve seen at least six students wearing the scarf of _The Infirmary_. I’ve had it with them–’

He was short of breath as the deep sorrow in his voice gave way to a stirring of anger. For a long time there were only heavy, ragging breathing and racking whimpers.

‘But you still have chances. I mean, you can win it back next year.’ murmured Thomas tentatively after a while.

‘That’s absurd. There’s no chance that we'd make it to the final ever again in the near future.’ said Manuel in broken sobs.

‘Why’d you reckon it to be absurd?’

There was a beat of uneasy pause, and in came a whisper which was surely spoken out from cold lips, ‘You have no idea what Quidditch and Quidditch League are, haven’t you?’

‘Non – nonsense.’ Thomas heard his 11-year-old self retorted in a defiant air, ‘I know what Quidditch is. It’s football on the broomsticks. At least the job of the keeper is not that much different from that of in football. The chaser is like the striker and the beater and the Bludger are very much the same as Ramos and Pepe. As for the seeker… well, I’ve got to admit that it’s rather hard to find a doppelganger for this.’

The mist became thicker while they once again lapsed into a formidable silence. Thomas didn’t like silence, especially the silence between conversations. In his view, it was not far removed from a sudden death. His 11-year-old self must feel the same for he soon filled the room with his voices.

‘You haven’t answered me yet. Why’d you think it’s ridiculous that your team might win the trophy next year? I mean, come on, they did it once and surely they can do it twice. And – oh, it just occurred to me that I haven’t learned the name yet. Is it Teddy Bear& Friends?’

Manuel heaved a sigh, ‘It’s _The Vanishing Captains_. And honestly, you can’t expect a dark horse to reach the final for the second consecutive year. That’s only in your wildest dream, not in reality.’

‘Well, but even Germany survived the Nations League this year and escaped the relegation two years running, so I figure there gotta be some miracles, not only in your wildest fantasy, but also in reality. And with a stroke of luck–’ he snapped his fingers, ‘the trophy will be yours.’

‘A stroke of luck?’ Manuel snorted. Thomas could effortlessly catch a trace of incredulity in his childish voice since the sobs already subsided at this point and what came out of his mouth was no longer a disjointed, incoherent mumble, ‘Mind you, this is not something you could randomly pick up on the street. Unless someone walking ahead of you happened to drop a vial of Felix Felicis on the pavement.’

‘What’s this Feli-Feli-thing?’

‘Felix Felicis. It’ll bring you tons of luck. But using it in a Quidditch match often ends up with a heavy sentence.’

‘Then I guess using your own strength to smash your opponents is the safest way. And your brain as well. To outthink your opponents, some tricks… Hey! I have an idea–’ His 11-year-old self suddenly exclaimed, which gave Thomas quite a start and seemed to rock the train as the laminated glass started shaking ferociously in the fleeting instant of the outburst. ‘Have you ever heard of Ferrero Rocher?’

‘Is that the name of an Italian Wizard?’

‘No, it’s chocolate. Chocolate drops. Very well acclaimed among the Muggles. And the most intriguing part is that it looked exactly the same as the Golden Snitch, with no fluttering wings though–’ He paused for a second for Manuel to follow, ‘so here is the plan – tell your seeker to tuck some of these in his Quidditch robe. When things get tricky, just take one out and throw it as faraway as possible to distract his opponent. And then he could go after the real Snitch without any interference. Genius, huh?’

The ground quivered; the fog thinned to reveal a narrow chink, just like there was a slight crack in his voice. Still, Thomas couldn’t make out their faces, but two small figures outlined against the pale flocculent mist.

‘You can’t be serious?’ Manuel’s voice penetrated through mist to him, which sounded brimming with amusement, ‘Chocolate drops? You really believe those professionals would take the bait?’ 

‘You’ll never know till that day comes. Anyway, it’s worth a shot. It’ll work, I assure you, and the chance is that we might see someone using the trick some day in an official Quidditch game, the world cup final for instance. Maybe they’d even name it after me, then I’d be thrilled – just think about it, Thomas Müller Offensive Feint, or The Genius Thomas Müller Offensive Feint, personally I prefer the latter.’ His voice dropped to nothing but mild breathing, but before long, it interrupted the silence out of incredulity, ‘Wait, why are you laughing?’ 

‘I’m not.’

‘You could have fooled me.’ He heard his 11-year-old self snort, ‘You could move your hand off. The crinkles around your eyes already betrayed you.’

Thomas didn’t know for sure whether Manuel was laughing for he could neither see his face nor hear anything that was the closest to laughter. He didn’t even know if this truly happened. Maybe this was another dream, just like so many others, penetrating into his head and leaving behind nothing but some inconceivably vague memento yet still, infecting his mind bit by bit. Or could it merely be a fragment from the past, which tragically failed to leave even a slightest impression but now saw its chance and thereby crawled back from the abyss?

He was unsure of nothing. The only thing he knew, the only thing real and perceptible was the shaking of the Hogwarts Express as it tramped onwards to an unknown destination. For what seemed to be an eternity there was only livid stillness as he stood in solitude waiting for something to explode, which was in most cases a sure sign of alternation.

The transition came almost unnoticed. At first it was the vibration of the train, only a slightly more distinct, and then the mist diluted to a paler, penetrable shade. It was not until then that he heard a fit of laughter, a chorus of voices, drifting from the end of the seemingly endless corridor. Tempted but more or less quailing at the unknown, he sidled forwards through greyish mist like a hooded hermit slinking in darkness. He didn’t know for how long he had been treading on this old crumpled carpet as he was only led by his instincts while walking in the foggy passageway. At any rate, everything was foggy in the dream and for this reason, it seemed that for the past couple of minutes he had been invariably strolling past the same compartment the umpteenth time, for they always looked the same even under the clear sunlight. He hated to admit this but he felt like a headless chicken milling around in his own dream in a haze of confusion.

It could have ended up like this had it not been for a timely paroxysm of laughter coming from inside the compartment only a few strides away, or his own struggle to keep himself staying for as long as he could for he didn't want to wake up with a dazed mind and the unfulfilled desire to dig deeper in his memories for more. Either way, it worked. At the sound of blasting guffawing he stopped short, glanced around with his brightly-lit eagle eyes and traced the sound to where it came from.

Thomas knew in no way could he burst into the compartment so this time, he simply watched, through the grimy window, to observe and to remember. Though what was behind the quivering window was partially veiled by a cloud of mist, he could easily make out four figures hiding behind the diffusing twists of smoke. From what he could tell there wasn’t much difference even though the outline of the silhouette was clearer and sharper, the features were still nothing but a blur. They appeared to be some expressionless marionette coming out from the same assembly line, which was kinda creepy, and he could only tell their identities by means of their voices.

He noticed that for the past few minutes it was always he who had been talking, blabbering like the MPs whose vigour had no end and whose desire to voice for himself and make himself heard knew no bounds. He was talking about the word ‘VIP’, explaining to them how the Muggles defined it and what it was all about.

‘… it means you could get yourself better treatment!’ his younger self was almost on the edge of his seat as he exclaimed with excitement, ‘Better food, better view and the like. Hey, I was thinking, in that way the tall fellas were born with VIP treatment cause the views were surely better up there, kinda unfair–’

Thomas was pretty sure he had experienced it before as the scenes and the snatches of the conversation seemed to be long etched into his memories. So this was no mere a dream; this was not a dream. As the mist slowly dispersed he further realized that what he was gazing into was actually the prefect compartment and that meant, it must have happened no less than four or five years later since he had first set foot on the journey to Hogwarts. Probably two years ago, when he shockingly found out that he was appointed as the prefect. It was strikingly that he should totally block out the past as though the memories from the past were all lightly written by a pencil and with a simple move they were easily erased inside out, or maybe, he simply didn’t bother remembering it. At any rate, it might be a blessing to be gifted with the ability to forget cause somehow he found it unbearably embarrassing, even agonizing, to hear his younger self rattling on and on, pouring out tons of gibberish like a bursting dam with no intention to make it stop.

‘… it’s quite intriguing. All those Muggle things, their inventions and their culture.’ he heard Manuel responded with intent interest the instant his long and tedious narration came to an end, ‘Wish I’d chosen Muggle Studies over Divination back then.’ Manuel heaved a sigh.

‘If you were gifted with the ability of prophecy–’ Another deep drawling voice joined in, ‘then you should foresee what was going to happen next and warn yourself not to tick Divination on the timetable but Muggle Studies instead.’ Mats quipped in a patronizing air, ‘But unfortunately you were not blessed with such talents and now you are forced to confine yourself in the stifling circular room on the top of the North Tower to study the mystery of divination and astrology along with that old bat so that next time, you won’t stray in the wrong direction when you once again find yourself hesitate at the crossroad of decisions. Lesson learned.’

‘Speaking of Divination class,’ said the cheerful voice of Thomas’ younger self, ‘I say the seat that is the nearest to the trapdoor should be credited as the VIP seat cause that’s the only place which won’t be affected by Trelawney’s meaningless rambles and horrible perfume.’

‘Then I assume the back row of seats in the Potions classroom can also be acclaimed as the VIP seats.’ Mats echoed.

‘And the seat nearest to the mantelpiece in the common room.’ The fourth guy in the compartment, who was the prefect of Hufflepuff and had remained quite still before, joined in the conversation. All of a sudden the compartment was swelled with rapturous voices.

‘So that’s what a VIP seat is…’ murmured Manuel conversationally in the midst of their heated discussion, ‘Actually, I feel like right now I’m sitting in one.’ he blurted out.

‘Technically it’s not cause there isn’t much difference here.’ Thomas chimed in.

‘There is.’ returned Manuel rather resolutely, ‘Well, for me personally.’ He hastened to add.

‘Then share it with us Neuer.’ Mats drawled, ‘We could all use some entertainment.’

‘Um, for starters, it’s spacious, and with cushions I could prop myself up whenever I got tired and…’

‘And you have the rightful reason to stare right into those Slytherin-greenish eyes and rest on them so long as you want without excusing yourself, is that so?’ Mats teased.

Instead of defending himself, Manuel only let out a fit of nervous laughter while he was subjected to Mats’ and Hufflepuff prefect’s loud chortle.

‘Truth to be told, it’s not that far off the mark.’ said Manuel a moment later. In a roar of shrill giggles he managed to make himself heard by means of a throaty cough, which brought the laughter to an abrupt halt, ‘to have your company on a long journey like this means VIP treatment for me,’ he murmured tentatively, ‘to share a compartment with you – cause where else could you find such sparkling, fantastic stories?’

The compartment sank into a deathly stillness for a second, which, even though didn’t last longer than the pause between two heartbeats, felt like centuries. And then Thomas heard his shaking whisper filled the voiceless gap, his young voice, submerged with a tone of incredulity but deep hidden inside was an implicit trace of inner excitement.

‘Oh, I’m glad you like them.’ He stammered, uncertain but a bit flattered by Manuel’s kind and full-on praise, too hyper to notice Mats’ meaningful tut-tuts.

Thomas was sure that there must have been a radiant smile in full bloom on Manuel’s face when he heard his own joyous laughter ringing at the other side – his dazzling smile, ironically, he couldn’t see it but only to imagine it on the strength of his hearing, and what shamed him most was that it was not owing to bad rememberance, but pure blindness.

_Merlin’s beard, I’m indeed the most ignorant dope ever walking in this castle._

The laughter occupying the compartment didn’t die down but continued, becoming louder as time ticked by, bursting out through the chink of the door and approaching to him like a herd of horses galloping in rampage. The laughter was deafeningly shrill, forcing his heart to beat in sync with its irregular rhythm as it pierced through his eardrums, which was to his much discomfort. He tried to make it stop but it refused to surrender. He felt besieged from every direction, from inside out.

 _Time to leave,_ said a timid voice in his head. Without a second of delay Thomas broke into a gallop, pelting down along the endless corridor for what seemed to be ages, gasping for air, wondering when it would come to an end as it slowly descended into a meaningless trudge through heavy, moist mist.

The piercing laughter echoed within the train, hovering over his head in a peculiar form. Around him was a vast stretch of blackness in which dwelled no one, and yet there were ominous whispers closely at his heels. _Jump,_ the voice urged. But where was the exit?

All of a sudden a strange feeling of weightlessness shot through him. Plumes of silky clouds ruffled against his cold skin and soared rapidly in the opposite direction as the gravity dragged him down. Meanwhile, gone with the clouds was a sense of realization, along with the recollection of the past, extracted from his head while wind whooshed by his ears. There was nothing but a strong panic solidly rooted in his mind for he was in fear of crashing into the ground as the speed accumulated rapidly in the course of falling.

_I’m going to collide with it–_

He started, and in the blink of an eye Thomas realized he was staring at a mass of dark green in the heart of the canopy, lying almost paralyzed under the covers. There were chirping whispers drifting briskly in the room, amidst which were tinkling giggles, breaking the conversation every now and then.

‘… really? McGonagall asked him to transfigure a badger into a cat? That’ll be a piece of cake to him. He’s an adept at this…’ said a light-hearted but still dreamlike voice.

He blinked at where the voices rang, where Manuel materialized – he sat around at the end foot of the bed, looking up to converse with someone who was out of view, yet Thomas was pretty sure that the guy must be his roommate, Mats.

He blinked again, and again for several times until his eyes became watery. Although his sight was obscured by a thin mist of tears, he could see Manuel’s face clearly through misty eyes, he could get a full view of his features, of how his eyes crinkled when he cracked a smile or how he licked his upper lip like a cat when he was uncertain about a question. It was not until then that he had the conviction to say it firmly that it was not a dream this time.

Breathing out a long sigh of relief, Thomas flexed his limbs a little bit in hope that the numb feeling would soon wear off. Manuel must have felt the stirring for he instantly swivelled around to look at him, and greeted him in a delightful yet somewhat flirtatious tone.

‘Morning.’ chuckled Manuel, ‘Just then we were talking about when you’d finally get up. And his money’s on half an hour later.’

‘And your bet?’

‘At around 9:30, which is five minutes later. I win.’ He specifically enunciated the last two words. As soon as his voice faded, there swelled a heavy clunk, reverberating within the four walls and approaching quickly in this direction before a bulky figure burst into view.

‘Two Sickles.’ said Mats sulkily, dropping two tinkling silver coins onto Manuel’s palm, ‘And to remind you,’ he rounded on Thomas, ‘The Hogwarts Express is due to leave at 11:00 sharp, and well, you haven’t even packed yet.’

‘I’m a wizard.’ Thomas drawled, giving a big yawn as he curled deeper under the covers.

‘Whatever.’ Mats snorted, stumping off to get himself gussied up before tripping out of the room, where dwelled none but the sputter of sparks dancing jovially in the mantelpiece, when it was presently overtaken by a sudden pregnant silence between the two of them.

‘That’s unfair,’ grumbled Thomas a moment later, peering at the velvet canopy which looked so similar to the sky with the promise of an impending thunderstorm and meanwhile strangely evoked a sensation of falling, ‘He haven’t thanked me yet for helping him win the ten Galleons’ worth of bet and now he took it out on me for losing two Sickles. That’s just unfair.’

Chuckling, Manuel sprawled on the bed beside him, staring at the dark, emerald shade sky-like canopy along with him.

‘Yeah, that’s quite unfair.’ Manuel agreed, ‘But be honest, it’s not like he got it all wrong. You really should get up. The train will leave in an hour.’

‘An hour and a half.’ Thomas corrected him, ‘And don’t worry. I’ve got a wand. Things will be packed up before you can even blink. So, five more minutes of lie-in?’

Manuel breathed a chuckle of resignation in reply to his pleading, which was just as Thomas had expected. He knew that Manuel didn’t have the heart to turn him down cause he was always soft with him, too soft, maybe.

While lying in there, his head full of trains of thoughts and his bare skin gently rubbing against the soft fabrics of Manuel’s clothes in an intimate way every so often without him ever noticing it, Thomas wondered why he suddenly seemed to take an interest in the canopy as he gazed intently at a patchwork of dark green and silver threads. That was the first thing he saw today since he opened his eyes. Or to put it another way, every morning he woke up to the same thing for the past six years and surprisingly, this was the first time that he had ever given it a careful, scrutinizing look. _It indeed looks like sky_ , whispered a small voice in his head. And at the same time he found it quite interesting that those silver threads resembled what a shooting star described in the dark, star-strewn sky, a silver tail, hinting at the falling of a blazing star.

_Falling._

Words flowed out of Thomas’ mouth before he even realized it as an odd sensation swept over him, and judging by the look on Manuel’s face, he was also floored by this unexpected enquiry.

‘Which team won the Quidditch League Cup six years ago?’ Manuel repeated, and quickly gave his answer without a second thought after Thomas nodded affirmatively, ‘It’s _The Over-Crowded Infirmary._ I remembered it clearly. That was the first time my team made it to the final. We thrashed _The Yellow-and-Black Marketeers,_ our biggest rival, in the semi-final but then we lost to _The Infirmary_.’ Manuel heaved a heavy sigh. The deep sorrow in his voice showed that he was still somehow plagued by the defeat even though six years had passed. ‘How come you thought of this?’

How come he thought of this? Even Thomas himself was unable to find a solid answer. Those words just came by out of nowhere like a stranger one randomly bumped into on the street on a random day. But Thomas believed there must be a reason, a logical one.

‘Hey,’ Manuel snapped his fingers to wake him up from the intricate whirls of thoughts, ‘Wanna take a guess at how close we were to the Golden Snitch when our rival beat us to it?’

‘Four inches?’ he murmured with uncertainty even though the answer almost came out automatically as if it were written in his mind and highlighted. He timidly snatched a glance at Manuel’s face for an affirmation and found what he was looking for when he cracked a radiant smile on hearing his reply. Images overlapped the moment that smile caught his eyes as though a dream was reflected on reality, as something deep hidden stirred, and emerged from the bubbles.

‘I had a dream.’ Thomas breathed out a whisper after a few moments of contemplation, still eagerly staring at the dark, dome-like canopy.

‘Well then, tell me about it.’

‘I can’t recall it clearly.’ Thomas gave vent to a sigh, brief and shallow, ‘I just had some… vague sensation, some fragments. It felt like, like–’

‘–looking through grimy glass?’ Manuel hazarded a guess.

‘Yeah, I guess that’s what I was going to say. Looking through grimy glass. The grimy windows of the battered old compartment on Hogwarts Express, strewn with dirt.’

‘But there is always laugh behind those grimy windows.’ said Manuel bracingly in a sparky voice, whilst he fondly stroked Thomas’ messy hair, ‘I remembered you once showed us the magical photo of a Muggle teaching his horse how to properly flex its legs. I almost died laughing–’

‘I just downloaded it from the internet.’ Thomas chipped in.

‘–And all those fabulous stories and the things about Muggles.’

‘They are corny, and inconceivably stupid.’

Manuel stopped abruptly, a look of astonishment registering on his face as he gazed open-mouthed at Thomas, eyebrows quirking and appearing flabbergasted. ‘No, they are not,’ he shook his head, almost sternly, as he cocked an eye at Thomas, ‘not at all. Listen, it’s not your fault if some Slytherin knuckleheads chose to turn a deaf ear to your fascinating narratives. That’s their choice, and seriously, a great loss to them, I dare say, cause where else would they find such stories as intriguing and sparkling as yours?’

The voices soon died down but within Thomas mind it still echoed. As though the earnestness in those words was too much for him to bear, he somehow felt a heavy load on his chest as he was lying immobile blinking vacantly at the mass of dark green.

 _Sparkling,_ whispered a soft voice in his head, _as a blazing shooting star, as a star-strewn sky from a dream–_

Dawning comprehension, like a tiny hummingbird perching on the pool, suddenly alighted on him, causing reverberating ripples.

‘It was not a dream.’ Thomas blurted, swivelled around, only to find that Manuel was gazing back at him with a deep, shrewd look. ‘You remembered them all, didn’t you?’

With a beaming, lopsided smile tugging the corner of his mouth, instead of giving a direct answer, Manuel only said, ‘You know what I intended to show you while you were all out there on the Quidditch pitch on the day of the final?’ he paused, as though in an attempt to give Thomas enough time to ponder on the question, but soon broke into his narrative without an actual answer, ‘Those failed fireworks, they were supposed to be jumbled together into a banner with the words THE INVENTOR OF THE MOST INGENIOUS OFFENSIVE QUIDDITCH FEINT, clustered around by bewitched fluttering golden balls which I presumed would bear a great resemblance to those chocolate balls you once told me about. But the likelihood was that something went wrong in the process,’ he grimaced, ‘so… it only caused a commotion among the students and nothing beyond that.’

‘Wow,’ Thomas remained transfixed for a few seconds before he retrieved the power of speech under the earnest stare of Manuel, ‘if you ask me, I’d say it’s a good thing the fireworks didn’t work, otherwise I might die embarrassing. Sorry for being a picky jerk. My inner-Slytherin-badass-self is left unattended and let out for a second. But don’t worry; I’ll keep a beady eye on it from now on–’

All of a sudden the room resonated with Manuel’s hysterical guffaw, so loud and penetrating that even the mermaids were startled and let out angry hisses as they swam past the window. But Thomas, totally undisturbed, continued speaking amidst the shrill giggles mixed with unpleasant scraping noises coming from the irritated mermaids, ‘And, um, thanks for all you’ve done.’

‘Just some small tricks.’

‘No, I mean, all those things throughout the years. You’ve been in my life long before I even realized it. And that’s just… a blessing.’ He murmured, a trifle coy about what he was gonna say as his cheeks were suddenly reduced to a faint crimson, ‘All those memories we’ve shared together but I remembered so little about them. That’s as unforgivable as adding pineapple on the pizza–’

He was suddenly interrupted by a fervent kiss, following a fresh waft of mint-flavoured fragrance as Manuel pressed himself hard against him. Out in the distance came the spikey boos and hisses of the mermaids but he couldn’t care less about what they were gossiping about or whether they saw it or not when he was all consumed with passion of love, when they were fervently necking and fondling each other.

While he peered closely at Manuel, for a split second Thomas had an illusion that what he saw in those luminous blue eyes was not the reflection of his own but a vague shadow of his younger self, of the inventor of the most ingenious offensive Quidditch feint, but it soon faded after a quick blink and now what he could see was love for him, passionate and persistent, suffusing his face and melted in his soft smile and incarnated in his every tender caress.

‘Help me retrieve them.’ said him in a hushed whisper. At his request Manuel made a face.

‘But I’m a bad story-teller.’

‘Still better than most of the guys in this castle.’

Grinning almost like a kid who got his favourite toy for his birthday, Manuel didn’t raise any objection anymore and brushed a quick kiss against Thomas’ lips.

The clock struck 10. At its deep, solid chime Manuel quickly jerked himself up and sprang to his feet, while giving Thomas’ arm a hard yank, ‘Time to get up, really.’ said him hastily, ‘You go get yourself washed. I’ll help with the packing. These books… _The Standard Books of Spells_ , _Advanced Potion-Making_ … better take them. And what about _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use against the Dark Arts_? Do you think if you might need it for the papers?’

In answer to his stream of questions, Thomas flexed his wrist a little bit before he produced his wand, 13 inches, dogwood with a dragon heartstring core, out of the pocket. With a quick and graceful flick of the wrist, the books, along with folded T-shirts, quills, parchment scrolls and all the other belongings, flew into the trunk and perched themselves orderly upon each other.

‘Impressive.’ said Manuel bracingly, an appreciative smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

Stowing his wand carefully back into the pocket, Thomas shrugged deprecatingly, ‘Some minor benefits of being a wizard.’ Nonetheless, he seemed to be a bit flattered as a warm blush of pride crept on his cheeks and found its way down to his prominent chin and neck.

He came back from the bathroom a moment later to find out that everything was settled. It was no longer a mess, like what was left after a savage hurricane; the furious flames in the mantelpiece were gingerly extinguished and all the other stuff was stowed away to where it belonged. The room was once again all neat and airy as though no one has ever set foot in before, except for those mermaids, whose slim, glamorous shadows swam gracefully in the brightly-lit, circular reflection of the clear teal waters filtering in through the window and casting on the carpeted floor.

‘One last check, nothing left, right?’ asked Manuel briskly when he caught a glimpse of Thomas, who strode past him to pick up an ink bottle hiding under the bed and tossed it on a heap of folded clothes. Having been reciprocated with an affirmative nod, he then closed the trunk up with a loud thud before securing it with a spell in case that the trunk burst open on the way home.

Down a flight of stairs, within the narrow spiral corridor echoed a familiar hoarse voice – Mats and Benedikt were urging them to get down.

‘Hurry! The carriage’s waiting outside!’ Mats yelled in the midst of a deep, drawn-out siren coming from behind billows of thick steam in the distance.

Straightening up while smoothening the crease out of his robe, with one last wistful glance around the room, Manuel murmured, ‘Alright, say goodbye to our sixth year at Hogwarts.’

‘And say hello to the carefree summer holidays.’ Thomas chirruped heartily, before he hastened to add, ‘Well, at least most of the time. Except the last week, that’s living hell, resonating with agony and torment. You’d wish how your homework would all burn in flames. That’d make a pretty cool excuse if you attended a Muggle school but unfortunately we are wizards so that plainly wouldn’t work.’ He heaved a sigh as he produced his dogwood wand yet again to bewitch the trunk to descend the stairs all by itself, ‘Some minor shortcomings of being a wizard.’

At his babbles Manuel laughed a hearty laugh, giving his palm a gentle squeeze with a prominent show of affection, from which Thomas felt a flush of warmth with every fibre of his being.

The way down to the common room was all about chitchatting and Manuel constantly probing into how Muggle students excused themselves for not handing in on their homework. While watching the fluffy dirty-blonde head bouncing up and down as Manuel descended on each step, with their fingers tightly locked together, Thomas couldn’t help thinking how inexplicably yet blissfully lucky it was that another guy was just naturally blended into his life.

‘What are you thinking?’ Manuel’s voice drifted into his ears.

‘Nothing. Just I’m lucky enough though, to survive my sixth grade at Hogwarts, when there were umpteenth times that I could have blown my head up.’

By the time they hurried upstairs to the entrance hall the Hogwarts Express hooted the second shrill warning to urge the students to get to the station as soon as possible. The gleaming summer sunshine knocked the heavy oak wooden door open. Bathed in the flowing sunlight, as if by tacit understanding, they stopped.

For no specific reason and with no clear omen, Thomas suddenly threw himself into Manuel’s outstretched arms. He leaned against his heaving chest, listening serenely to his fiercely rapturous heartbeats, clinging to a soft, fluffy Gryffindor boy whom he could in no way have foreseen his appearance, clinging to his lost memories of the past.

‘I love you.’ He crooned in a feeble bleat, holding the big guy tighter as he felt an onrush of emotions.

Manuel patted him soothingly on the back and breathed a whisper into his ears, the answer he had long been aware of, but he was ecstatic to hear it when put in words nevertheless.

Together they strode into the salty, moist morning breeze blowing from the lake, and mounted the carriage which was mysteriously led by an unseen creature as they had done for years, sitting cuddling up against each other as they bumped along the winding track, with one last glimpse to see the grand towering castle, along with another eventful life at Hogwarts, was peacefully left behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Over-Crowded Infirmary = Bayern; The Vanishing Captains = Schalke; The Yellow-and-Black Marketeers = Dortmund (in case someone may find it confusing) 
> 
> I've trolled through J.K. Rowling's writings about the wand woods when I wrote this chapter so that I could decide which kinds of wand woods were most suitable for my boys (the truth is, everything appeared to be more intriguing when you are doing your work so I kinda lost in the mystery of the wand woods and spent a day or two studying them instead of doing what I was supposed to do, like writing my third Neuller fanfic). For Thomas I decided on dogwood cause according to what was written in the article, dogwood wands were quirky and mischievous and preferred those who had playful natures. And they were also rather noisy. Thus I figured it would make a perfect match. For Manuel I thought cedar was best suited to him (though I didn't mention it in the fic) cause it was said that those who carried a cedar wand had the potential to be a great adversary to those who dared to thoughtlessly challenged them and that was probably what strikers thought of him whenever they faced him on the field so, not someone to cross<(￣ˇ￣)/


End file.
